


Savage Temptation

by MaxxSummers



Category: Divergent (Movies), Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: All characters that are not OCs are played by the actors who played them in the movies, But that's with all my stories, Hate to Love, I have too many story ideas for my own good, M/M, Male OC - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Partially based on book, Partially based on movie, also I start school soon so updates on this will be slow, there will eventually be smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-08-08 09:04:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7751539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxxSummers/pseuds/MaxxSummers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's kind, scared, tough, and determined.</p>
<p>He's cruel, arrogant, strong, and paranoid.</p>
<p>He shouldn't love him, or trust him. He should hate him and avoid him, but instead Sander finds himself challenging him in order to get closer, securing a bond that could only end in death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They always say to trust the test -- to go wherever the test places you. You want to succeed. You want to fit in. You want to be normal. That’s what they tell you: to conform to one of the five options in their society, but I don’t agree with that. I have never fit in, never been the peaceful and happy person I was supposed to be. I have grown accustomed to the odd looks I receive when I walked by.

Erudite. That’s what the test had said. It made sense, as I had always hoarded books and performed experiments on myself as an attempt to get around the drugs pulsing through my veins. I’ve always known I wasn’t Amity, or Candor, or Abnegation. I’m too violent for Amity, and I lie too much for Candor. As for Abnegation, well, no one wants to be a stiff.

However accurate the test was, Erudite didn’t seem right. I love learning, and experimenting, but I can’t imagine being stuck in a lab all day. For the last sixteen years I had lived for adventure: climbing the Amity trees, training the untrainable animals, riding the green horses a bit farther than I should have. It wasn’t much, but it was good enough for me. I grew up outdoors, lived for freedom, and worked hard at my job; but, I preferred animals over people, art over religion, and I’m not afraid to start a fight.

I remember being young and going to the choosing ceremony with my mother. I remember how I used to be fascinated with the knives, never having been allowed to hold one myself. I remember how I used to wince at the sight of blood, but still watched, determined to get past the undesirable feeling I got as that year’s group sliced into their palm. By the time I was over, I was desensitized the the sight. My mom said I would be in the black group, as I called Dauntless then. She always knew I wasn’t Amity, and both her and my father encouraged me to be myself.

That all changed after they died. Kiana and Derick Brent changed that. They were good people, taking my brothers and I in after the barn fire, but they were about as Amity as you could get. They also believed that as long as you were Amity, even as a child, you should act as an Amity would, although many factions apparently believe that. They wouldn’t just scold me whenever I would get too rambunctious or controversial -- they would drug me. They would no longer allow me to skip religious gatherings to work with the horses or allow me to roughhouse with Dax, but instead attempted to force me to conform in every way possible. At the age of ten I found another escape: books.

I love books. They were one of the few things where mentions of violence and weaponry weren’t banned, at least if you knew how to disguise them good enough. I would often read to escape what grew to be hell. I read to escape Kiana’s and Derick’s nagging, and to avoid their not so Amity daughter. It wasn’t long before I began hoarding books in the barn, behind a loose board where a space large enough to fit a couple of children was hidden. Reading became my escape -- my freedom when the Brent’s attempted to trap me in their world. 

It didn’t come as a surprise when the test gave me Erudite, but I can’t help but think that wasn’t the real me. The real me wasn’t someone who yearned to learn, but instead someone who yearned to be free, sometimes to the point of recklessness. The real me was someone who pushed past their discomforts, not someone who performed experiments all day; however the real me is hidden. The real me had been forced so deep inside me I’m not even sure he existed anymore, but if there was a chance to bring him back I have to. I belong in Dauntless.

Still, the line seems to move too fast as name after name was called out, each one of my peers choosing their faction -- their forever home. The old me belonged in Dauntless, and I know I belong there, but at the same time I feared the old me wouldn’t return. I feared the old me was too far gone, and I won’t thrive in Dauntless how my mother said I would. I couldn’t decide, and my name is quickly approaching as those in front of me choose their factions.

Amity. 

Erudite. 

Amity. 

Amity. 

Abnegation. 

Dauntless.

Jeanine Matthew’s voice seems almost distant as my heart beats faster than I ever thought it could. I feel almost sick as the girl in front of me chooses her faction: Abnegation. I take a deep breath, running my fingers over the small scar on my forearm as Jeanine takes hold of a new knife, preparing to call out my name.

“Alexander Davidson.”

It doesn’t sound right -- too formal and constricting -- but still I briskly walked to the Erudite leader, looking her in the eye as she relinquishes the ceremonial knife into my grasp. Walking over to the bowls, I slice into the soft flesh of my palm before holding my hand over the hot coals, not allowing myself a chance to change my mind.

A roaring cheer erupted from behind me, much different from the polite claps of the other factions. I turn around, walking towards the smiling faces and welcoming arms of the Dauntless. A smile crosses my face briefly as they patted my back as I make my way to the back of the group. 

This was Dauntless style, but that’s all it was -- a style. They think I won’t make it, I mean why would they? I look like a Dauntless: tall with broad shoulders and muscles rippling under my skin; however, I was Amity, and I had never thrown a punch in my life despite my knowledge of fighting skills. There was also the fact my agenda was different from that of Dauntless. I don’t care about bravery, but instead freedom.

Still, I had chosen Dauntless, and that’s where I will stay. I will prove them wrong, get past their smiles, their laughter, their false welcoming. They’re friendly, close, but not to me. They will never be close to me. I am an outsider -- someone who they think will be nothing more than factionless piece of trash -- but I will prove them wrong.

“You should’ve stayed in Amity,” the red haired boy beside me says. “You won’t make it with us.”

Ethan Anderson. Dauntless born and bred, an excellent fighter, an unfathomable prick. His tough guy attitude was normally the talk of the school, which is what landed me in a fight with him when we were twelve. I remember Dylan trying to talk me out of it, saying I would lose only to come home and have my veins filled with peace serum, but I didn’t listen. Of course, Dylan had been right. I did lose the fight; although I wouldn’t exactly call three people beating another a fight, but it still made me the laughing stock for about a month.

“What do you know about what I should and should not be?” I reply, continuing to focus on the ceremony in hopes Ethan will leave me alone, and honestly a bit surprised he hasn’t brought up the fight from four years ago.

“I know that you’ve never won a fight.”

There it is.

“I never had anyone to fight with me, unlike you pricks,” I say. “At least I can think, not just throw punches like a monkey.”

“Might want to be careful who you say that around, Davidson,” Ethan replies. “They might think you’re Divergent.”

It’s not long before the choosing ceremony ends, the final girl choosing Abnegation. I follow the group of Dauntless through the exit, taking one last look at the Brents and my brother. Kiana is crying, hugging Jessie and oblivious to the cold look her daughter is giving me. I expected Kiana to cry, but Derick crying is what caught me off guard. I thought he would be happy about be transferring -- happy about not having to put up with me breaking Amity rules; however, it doesn’t take long for me to realize he’s not upset I transferred, but instead upset he failed in his self given mission to change me into a true Amity. He’s upset he will be considered the man who raised a child who went rogue and transferred to Dauntless, a faction that values bravery and fearlessness. A faction that teaches violence. The realization doesn’t surprise me, but what does is the fact I don’t care he’s upset. In fact, I almost enjoy it.

I follow the Dauntless, quickly joining in the laughing and yelling as we run and jump down the stairs. This is what I always wanted: a group of people who don’t submit to strict standards as other factions -- a group of people who are free. I am finally free, and for the first time in years I don’t feel the stress of being judged, but instead I feel happy. 

I follow the Dauntless outside the Hub, where the ceremony was held. My lungs fill with fresh air, my eyes drawn to the bright orange sky, and my legs working faster underneath me as we run to the tracks. I laugh, throwing my arms out as we form into a long line and wait for the quickly approaching train.

It doesn’t take long before the mass of metal is rushing past us, and I begin sprinting to jump on. I reach for the handle on the train, only to be pushed and falling to my knees to avoid running into the train. I quickly rise back to my feet, watching as Ethan looks out of the train with a smirk planted proudly on his face before he disappears into the metal machine. My legs work harder than they ever have, my throat burning and my lungs desperate for more air. Finally, I reach the right car, gripping onto the handle and pulling myself in.

I land with a thud, falling to my knees as I watch other initiates desperate to catch the train. I stand, turning to face the others. Ethan is standing at the far side of the compartment, talking to a few other Dauntless born, his back to me. I walk over to him, grabbing him by the back of the neck and shoving him against the wall, my forearm across his neck, holding him in place.

“You pull some shit like that again, I’ll fucking kill you,” I say, looking up at him.

Ethan smiles, the hole for his piercing stretching as he laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “There’s more test to come, pretty boy, and trust me, you will fail, so I wouldn’t focus on killing me in my sleep if I were you.”

“Oh shut it, Ethan,” a Dauntless girl says, pushing her long, blond hair from her face as she walks towards us. “He could beat your ass any day.”

“He won’t get to see that day if he doesn’t let him go,” another Dauntless boy says, this one slightly shorter than me. “I mean, it doesn’t take much effort to make it look like he fell out of the train.”

“Just let him go,” the girl says. “It’s not worth it.”

I glance down at the girl. She screams Dauntless, despite her long blond hair looking straight and neat. The end of a tattoo is peaking out of her leather jacket, and she has a piercing on one eyebrow and one to the right side of her lip. Her eyes are smeared with thick black makeup that somehow makes her look friendly yet dangerous. She’s not tall, but she’s not short either, coming to about my shoulder. Her arms and legs are thick with muscle, but it doesn’t make her look masculine. Her skin is pale, how mine would be if I wasn’t outside all the time. Pretty.

“Fine,” I say, stepping back from Ethan. 

“Smart move, bitch,” the redhead says.

“Just because he didn’t beat your ass doesn’t mean I won’t,” the girl says.

“Shut it, Deniese.”

“Or what?” she says, stepping closer to him and getting in his face. “You’ll go run to your _mommy_ like you used to?”

Ethan’s face turns a bright shade of red. Whether it is from anger or embarrassment I can’t tell, but as he begins to stutter to say something I choose the latter. After a moment he clenches his jaw, turns away from us, and begins talking to the Dauntless I assume are his friends.

“Sorry about him,” the girl says. “He’s a bastard, always was.”

“You swear a lot for a girl,” I say without thinking.

“And what?” she yells. “Girls shouldn’t swear?”

“No, no that’s not what I meant,” I stammer out.

“I’m just messin’ with ya,” she replies, laughing and sticking her hand out. “I’m Denise.”

“Sander,” I reply, shaking her hand. “Is Ethan your brother or something?”

“Nope,” she says, running her tongue over her lip piercing. “Our mothers were both transfers from Erudite. Best friends, actually. They practically force us to get along.”

“Oh,” I say. “So that’s why you said your mommy.”

“Yeah, he used to give me hell when we were younger. Got me in so much trouble.”

Denise and I talk for about half an hour, focusing mainly on her Dauntless life instead of my Amity one. I’m happy with that. We talk until the train began to slow, and our conversation ceases. She smirks, walking across from the door of the train.

“Time to get off!” she says, smiling and running before jumping off the train.

Shocked, I walk over to the door to see she had jumped onto a gravel covered roof. One by one the other initiates began to jump of the train, and soon I am the only one left. I move so my back is against the wall of the train, then I run. I freeze at the opening to the train, having to fall backwards to keep myself from falling out. My heart races as I scramble back up and return to the back wall before quickly turning around. Once again, I run, not giving myself any time to think this time as I jump off the train.

I don’t make it to the roof, and instead I fall. I reach up at the last second to grab onto the ledge with one of my hands. Quickly, I throw my other hand up to the ledge, desperately holding on to avoid plummeting to my death. I attempt to pull myself up, my shoes thankfully gripping the side of the building.

It isn’t long before my arms began to ache, and I begin to feel myself sliding down. The other initiates are oblivious to my struggle, and they stand silent as they listen to a man, a Dauntless leader, speak. I take a deep breath, and with one final pull I manage to get both of my arms over the ledge. Finally, someone notices me and begins coming my way; however, they are quickly stopped by the Dauntless leader.

“Don’t help him,” the man says. “He can make it on his own.”

And I do. I pull myself forward and over the ledge, landing with a small thud on the gravel covered ground. I lay there a moment to catch my breath before lifting myself to my feet, struggling to keep my last meal down as I do so. Everyone’s eyes are on me, some shocked and some laughing at me.

“Well, flower boy,” the Dauntless man says. “Since you’re so eager to fall, and we have no volunteers, why don’t you jump first?”

It isn’t a question, but instead a demand. I grit my teeth and walk towards him, keeping my head high and my breathing steady as I do. Unfortunately, the other initiates push me forward until I am only a few feet away from the ledge. The Dauntless man grabs my arm and forces me up onto the ledge.

“Jump,” he says.

I don’t think and just do as he says, closing my eyes and jumping. I grip onto my shirt, biting into my lip so I won’t scream as I descend into what feels like an endless abyss. I don’t breath or open my eyes the entire way down. Finally, I hit something that gives way under my weight, surrounding most of my body. I reach out and feel what I am laying on. It feels like rope. I open my eyes as I sit up and see I landed in a net.

Two hand roughly grab my arm and pull me out of the net. I’m placed on a platform, my legs almost giving way underneath me. My eyes adjusted to the dim light, and I see the outline of people in the shadows -- members of Dauntless. I stand out amongst the black clothes people: my bright red and yellow clothing making me look like a flower growing from a pile of ash. 

“What’s your name?” the Dauntless man who pulled me from the net asks. He doesn’t look much older than me, maybe only a year or two.

“Sander,” I reply.

“First jumper, Sander!” the man yells, grabbing my wrist and raising my hand up in the air.

The Dauntless standing in the room cheer, clapping and yelling their praise or approval for something I was forced to do, yet somehow it still felt good. The Dauntless man lets go of my wrist just as a yell travels down from the roof above. I look up, watching as a boy with dark blue hair falls through the hole in the roof and lands in the net. He groans, lying still for a moment before quickly scrambling out of the net.

“Nice to see you, Andy,” the Dauntless man says, his voice wavering somewhere between sarcasm and sincerity.

I slowly walk down the steps of the platform, the boy with blue hair trailing closely behind me. A Dauntless woman, who’s standing behind the man who helped me off the net, tells us to stand in the middle of the floor and wait for the others. One after one the other initiates fall, landing safely in the net before joining the growing group of initiates. Denise is the ninth person to jump. Ethan is the tenth. They stay towards the front of the group with the other Dauntless whereas I stay towards the back. It seems like an eternity, but finally after Candor girl is lifted from the net and joins the group, the Dauntless man and woman turn towards us. 

“My name is Lauren,” the woman says. She then motions to the man beside her. “This is Four. We will be your instructors while you are training here. Now, follow us.”

Lauren and Four walk off the platform, Four trailing slightly behind her as they lead us out of the cavern and down a long, narrow tunnel. I look up at the ceiling, watching as we pass by dimly lit lamps, so dim darkness lingers in intervals between them. I, along with the blue haired boy and a short Candor born girl, am in the front of the group. I stay close to Lauren and Four, hoping I won’t get lost in the twisting tunnels of the Dauntless compound.

They stop, and I run into Four. I quickly back up, looking back down from the ceiling to see he is staring at me with his eyebrows raised. Luckily, he doesn’t say anything, and instead turns to the rest of the group. No one else notices I ran into Four, at least that’s how it appears.

“This is where the Dauntless break off,” Lauren says. “I assume you don’t need a tour, so follow me.”

The Dauntless born follow Lauren, disappearing into the shadows so only transfers are left. There are eleven of us: four Candor transfers, six Erudite transfers, and me. I am the only Amity transfer, yet somehow I feel as if I will be better than all of them.

“We are about to go to the Pit,” Four says. “You will learn to love it.”

Four walks towards the end of the hallway, darkness being the only thing to be seen. When at the end of the hallway, Four pauses. He pushes open a set of double doors. We walk into "the Pit", which is a huge cavern. Built into the rock walls are places for supplies and activities. The roof is made of glass, what remains of the light from the setting sun illuminating the area. Lights line along each path, similar to the ones from earlier.

Dauntless members are everywhere, laughing and talking loudly. Most of them have tattoos along their arms, some with them along their necks. Some of them have metal rings in their faces and ears. Some of the girls wear thick black makeup around their eyes. A few people have bright hair colors, some red, some blue, and even one with pink hair.

I look around in wonder. Everyone is having fun. Everyone is free. This is the place I dreamed about -- the place I wanted to be for so long. No one saying you can’t do something just because it appears as violence or might cause conflict. No one is forcing you to be someone or something you aren’t. No one is filling your veins with enough drugs to make you dizzy for days straight just so you won’t cause any conflict.

"Now," says Four," Follow me and I'll show you the chasm."

He leads us to the right side of the pit, where the light fades away and darkness lingers to consume us. The floor we walk on narrows as it turns from stone to iron. Where we stand cool water splashes up on my ankles, and the soothing yet menacing sound of rushing water fills my ears.

"The chasm reminds us that there is a fine line between bravery and idiocy!" Four says, having to yell over the sound of rushing water. "If you jump off this ledge do not expect to come back alive!"  
Four leads us from the chasm and across the Pit to a hole in the wall. The room beyond that is a dining hall full of people. When we walk in the Dauntless stand and applaud. It’s odd -- getting applauded for seemingly doing nothing -- but still it felt right. We look for empty seats at the tables in the dining hall and I soon find myself between a Dauntless boy and an Erudite girl. They pay no attention to me, both talking to their separate groups. I don't mind, I'm used to this by now.

I stare at the food in front of me: hamburgers. I've only had a few in my life, they were not eaten often in Amity. Even when they were eaten, I would eat only the meat most of the time. I didn't like the serum they put in the bread.

A hush falls over the dining hall. I look up, starring in the same direction as everyone else. Well, everyone who isn’t keeping their heads low and their eyes adverted from the man walking in the room. He’s young, about Four’s age, and muscular. He scans the crowd of people before walking over to the table where Four is sitting. The room is so quiet I can hear the click of his boot with every step he takes. Once he sits down next to Four, the conversation picks back up again as if nothing happened.

I continue to stare at my food, not really in the mood to eat. I know I’m not the only Amity transfer in the history of Dauntless, but not many have passed initiation. They either die or become factionless before they even reach the final stage, and I don’t know which is worse. I know I can pass initiation, but my only problem is I’ll have to work twice as hard to prove I truly belong in Dauntless. After all, everyone in my faction hates violence, and fighting is one of the main traits of the Dauntless faction.

“What’s wrong, never eaten a hamburger before?” 

I look up to see the man who caused the disturbance a few minutes earlier sitting across from me, the corner of his mouth turned up into a smile.

“Not hungry,” I reply.

He laughs, saying, “A softie like you will never make it here.”

“There’s a reason I transferred,” I say, looking up at him. “I’m not as soft as you think I am.”

“Oh, scary,” he says mockingly.

I roll my eyes and look back down at my food, hoping he’ll leave. He’s like the older, version of Ethan, but somehow less annoying and more threatening. Unlike Ethan, I’m not sure I could win a fight against him. He’s about the same height as me, but more muscular, and most likely with more experience.

“You know you shouldn’t roll your eyes at a Dauntless leader,” he says strictly.

I look back up at him, staring him in the eye: a challenge.

His eyes are full of life, but at the same time cold as ice. They’re filled with something similar to the eyes of the people from Amity. Amusement? No, it was different from that. It almost reminded me of how Jessie would look at me: filled with hate, anger, and a small amount of sadism; however, the man’s eyes were still different, although I’m sure there’s some amount of sadism there.

“I don’t give a shit who or what you are,” I say. “I’m not the person who blindly does whatever someone tells me to, especially not an arrogant prick such as yourself.”

He stands up and hits his hands on the table. I curse myself as I flinch, breaking eye contact for a split second. The dining hall is silent as he leans over the table so his face is mere inches from mine, his breath hot in my face as he speaks.

“I can make your life a living hell,” he hisses. “And I will, so if I were you I would watch myself and learn some respect, especially for your elders." He leans forward so foreheads are almost touching. "You might have been considered equals in Amity, but you're in Dauntless now. That's not how it works here, bitch. So learn to keep your mouth shut or you will be out of here before you can make one more smartass comment!" He yells the last part before walking away.

The eyes of everyone in the dining hall follow him as he leaves, then they all turn their gaze to me. I sigh and push my food away, laying my head in my arms. I wait for everyone to resume their conversations, but it doesn’t come as quickly as I would like. It starts as quiet whispers, but eventually everything returns to normal.

“It’s not a good idea to mess with him,” the Dauntless boy next to me says.

“I realized that,” I reply. He chuckles.

He’s cute, his dark hair hanging over bright green eyes. He’s short, but muscular. Tattoos twist up his arm and into the black shirt he wears. He has round cheeks and a small nose, and multiple piercings hang on both of his ears.

“But seriously, Eric is the cruelest of the Dauntless leaders,” he says. “And I don’t think he’s entirely mentally stable either.”

I laugh, sitting up straight again and running my fingers through my hair. It’s long -- too long.  
“I’m Zack,” he says.

“I’m Sander,” I reply.

“Well, Sander, I hope to see you in the second part of training.”

Zack is nice, but still childish and hyper. Honestly after about five minutes I want to punch him in the face; however, after ten I want him as my best friend. He was odd, quirky, and very funny. Unfortunately, dinner soon ends, and soon I find myself back with the other transfers once again following Four through the twisting hallways of the Dauntless compound. Once we reach a wooden door, Four finally turns to face us.

"This is where you will be staying. There are ten beds and eleven of you, which is a higher number than we anticipated. One of you will either have to sleep on the floor or share a bed with someone else for tonight.

"Here are some ground rules. You will be in the training room by eight o'clock every day. Training takes place every day from eight until six, with a break for lunch. After six you can do whatever you want. You can only leave the compound when accompanied by a Dauntless.

"During the first stage of initiation you and the Dauntless-born initiates are kept separate, but you will be evaluated in comparison to them. That is where you will get your rankings. At the end of the first stage of initiation four initiates will be cut and become factionless."

"Wait, so we don't all become Dauntless?" a Candor boy asks.

"Only the top ten become Dauntless members," a voice says from behind us.

I know that voice -- I hate it. Still, I turn along with the other initiates to see Eric walking towards us. He has a throwing knife in his hand, twisting it in his fingers as he approaches the Candor boy.

"Is that a problem?" he asks.

"Yes," says the Candor boy. "It is! If I would've known that I could become factionless even if I complete initiation then I would've just stayed in Candor!"

"You're out," Eric says. "A true Dauntless wouldn't care that they might fail."

"What?" the Candor boy asks.

"You are out!" Eric yells. "Factionless! You will never be a part of Dauntless! Do I make myself clear?"

The Candor boy stares at Eric for a few seconds before looking to Four with a pleading look on his face. Four only glares at Eric before lowering his head, staying silent and clenching his jaw. Once the Candor boy realizes he isn’t going to get any help his eyes grow wide and he runs, almost as if he avoids Eric long enough he won’t become factionless and can stay in Dauntless.

“Anyone else have trouble with initiation?” Eric asks, looking around.

“Prick,” I mutter.

It slips out before I realize what I’m doing. Four’s head snaps up, giving me a disapproving, yet shocked, look. I hope Eric didn’t hear it, but of course he did. He walks over to me, getting in my face as he puts the tip of the knife under my chin, tilting my head up slightly.

“What did you say?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I reply, swallowing as he presses the knife harder against my skin. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Good,” he says, bringing the knife to his side. “Don’t.”

Eric begins to twist the knife in between his fingers once again as he leaves, walking in the direction the Candor boy went. Four sighs before opening the door to the dormitory. It's a long room with ten beds. At the far end of the room is an old chalkboard, the smearings of past writings making the green color look dull and faded. We walk in the dormitory, looking around. After a few minutes everyone has claimed a bed for themselves. I get stuck with the bed closest to the door, although I don't see why everyone was fighting to avoid it.

We are given clothing. It’s plain and simple, consisting of shirts, pants, a jacket, and sneakers, all in the color black. Some of the Erudite transfers start changing into the new clothing, and soon everyone is changing, including myself. I change into a long sleeved shirt and a pair of the black pants. I don’t bother putting on the sneakers, knowing we will sleep soon anyways.

"Hey, flower boy," a Erudite girl says, walking over to me and sitting down on my bed. "You know there's a drawer under your bed. You don't have to keep your clothes on the floor."

"I don't have my clothes on the floor," I say. "And I know the drawer is there, I just haven't used it yet."

She pauses for a moment before saying, "How are you so...muscular?” She runs her hand along my arm. “I mean, maybe not for a Dauntless, but aren't you supposed to not take part in anything that could lead to violence?"

"I haven't trained for Dauntless if that's what you're asking," I reply. "Amity isn't as easy as it might sound."

"Yeah, picking fruit is so hard," she says, laughing.

"Well when you're responsible for climbing trees to get fruit along with taking care of animals, it kind of is," I reply, pushing her hand away.

She laughs, moving her hand to my leg and saying," And you do that how often? Once a year? What do you do the rest of the time, strum banjos and sing songs?"

"I hate banjos. If I have to hear that noise one more time, I will kill someone," I say, taking a handful of her hair and dragging her off my bed. "And I don't sing."

"Sure you don't," she says, getting up and walking over to a group of Erudite and Candor transfers.

I sigh and lie down on the bed, the blankets under me. It is only a few minutes until the lights are turned off and everyone else is silent. Breathing fills the room, some of it uneven and shallow as if it's source of it is crying silently. The others are slow and the deep, signaling that the person is asleep. I stare into the darkness towards the ceiling.  
I betrayed my caretakers. I betrayed my faction, my old faction. I know I can pass initiation, maybe even excel in it, but life here is going to be difficult. Everyone here is my enemy until I get through initiation. I know I have to watch out for Eric the most right now, he looks like he's out to get everyone. I shouldn't have to watch out for the Dauntless boy, Ethan, until the next stage of initiation, but it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on him.

I lay there for about an hour, listening as one by one my fellow initiates fall asleep. Finally, my mind goes blank. I close my eyes, and for the first time in years I drift into a peaceful sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Four o’clock on the dot. I sit up and run my fingers through my hair that - for the first time in years -  is not covered in sweat. Apart from the slow breathing of the other initiates, the room is silent. I gather a towel, a set of clothes, and my sneakers, leaving the jacket on the bed. Slowly, I stand and make my way to the door. The high pitched squeal it makes as I open it causes me to wince, the sound harsh in the silence. I quickly make my way into the hallway, closing the door behind me before walking to the bathroom - the stone floors cold on my feet. 

 

I leave my clothes on the sink before turning on a shower and stripping. Stepping under the water, I begin to scrub my body before realizing I forgot soap. Actually, they hadn’t given us any soap. After a few minutes, I grudgingly step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist and walking over to the sink. I avoid looking in the mirror - at the Amity still shown through my hair and lack of body modifications - and put on the clothes I grabbed that, thankfully, went together: black jeans and a sleeveless shirt. I slipped on socks and sneakers before leaving the bathroom.

 

Holding my clothes and towel close to me, I tiptoe back down the hall. I open the door to the dormitory and throw my clothes on my bed before once again closing the door. Then, I make my way through the dark hallways to the training room - no longer worrying about being quiet and instead allowing my sneakers to squeak against the damp floor.

 

It’s empty: silent with the lights creating eerie shadows around the equipment. I make my way to one of the punching bags, make my hand into a fist, and give the object a quick punch. It hurts - my knuckles sting - and the bag barely moves. I stretch out my fingers before once again assaulting the bag. I give a couple jabs with my right hand before crossing over with my left, and then I give an uppercut with my right and turning my arm to follow with an elbow. A roundhouse kick finally gets the bag to move, and it swing back as if getting ready to assault me. I dodge it before grabbing the top of the bag and kneeing it multiple times before finishing off with a quick hook - and I’m just getting started.

 

“Hey!” a voice to my right yelled, the doors to the training room swinging shut. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”

 

Eric walks up to me, his face near inches from mine. His eyes are cold, sadistic, but not angry. I straighten my shoulders, stepping forward in an effort to get him to back up. He doesn’t.

 

“I’m working out,” I say, turning back to the punching bag. 

 

You call that working out?” he mocks.

 

I groan and turn back to face him.

 

"If that's not working out then what the fuck do you suggest?" 

 

He grabs my arm and pulls me towards the door.

 

"I would suggest going back to the dormitory and let the big kids play instead of trying to keep up," he says. 

 

“Get your fucking hands off me,” I say, pulling my arm out of his grasp. The doors swing shut, and Four walks into the training room.

 

"Tobias," Eric says, shoving me towards the instructor," Keep your kids out of the training room before breakfast, okay?"

 

"They're not kids," Four says, tensing as he steps forward," And initiates have every right to be in this room."

 

"You might want to watch it, Eaton," Eric says calmly, stepping towards Four. “Keep them out.”

 

Four sighs.

 

“Go get cleaned up,” he says. “Be back here at eight.”

 

“But I was-”

 

“I said go!” Four yells. 

 

Clenching my jaw, I turned and walk out of the training room, a loud thud following as the doors swings shut behind me. I walk to the bathroom and splashed some water on my face. Looking in the mirror, I hate what I see. My face is too round, innocent despite my newly busted lip and the bruise beginning to form on the side of my face. Blue eyes framed in long eyelashes don’t help. In fact, I might as well have a target on my back saying to come beat the shit out of me. Even worse, my hair hung over my eyes - it frames my face.

 

I slam my hands against the counter before leaving, wiping my face with my shirt as I make my way to the dining hall. When I arrive, only a few Dauntless members are already eating - no initiates. Walking to the food bar, I look at the plates of different types of muffins: blueberry, chocolate, bran, and some others I can’t make out. I put a chocolate muffin, a blueberry muffin, and a couple pieces of toast on my plate before walking to an empty table in the middle of the dining hall and sit down. Picking up the chocolate muffin, I begin to eat. It’s not bad, but very sweet - almost as if they poured half a bag of sugar into this one muffin.

 

“Sander!” an excited voice yells from behind me. Next thing I know I’m struggling to keep myself from falling out of my seat as the weight of another person lands on me. It’s Denise. “Wow, you’re here early. I didn’t think any transfers would be in the dining hall at five on their first day!”

 

“I always wake up early,” I reply, taking another bite of the chocolate muffin. It’s still too sweet.

 

“Well that’s good. You get the good stuff! I’m going to get some food. Save me a spot!” she says rapidly before trotting to the line of food and taking a plate.

 

I continue to eat for a few minutes until Denise returns with a boy around our age. His hair is light blond, his roots dark brown, and his eyes are grey. He has a silver ring on the side of his nose along with a couple of green ones poking from his eyebrows - the flesh around them still pink. Numerous tattoos twists around his arms in intricate designs. Additionally, starting just under his eye are two faint scars that run down his face and neck, ending just above the neckline of his shirt.

 

“Sander, this is Slavko,” Denise says. “He’ an asshole.”

 

“No I’m not, you cunt!” Slavko replies, playfully shoving denise.

 

Denise laughs, sitting down across from me.

 

“Whatever you say,” she says, taking a bite from her muffin.

 

I continue to talk to Denise and Slavko as more and more people begin to arrive. Denise and Slavko are very playful, especially when they can feed off each other. The room grows silent. The thud of boots begins making my way across the room. I turn around. Eric.

 

He walks over to a table where Max and a few of the other older Dauntless are sitting, leaning down and exchanging a few words before straightening up once again - his eyes scanning the room as a hunter would look for prey. He looks directly at me, and before I can break eye contact he walks towards me. He pushes the boy beside over and sits down. Conversation gradually picks back up, except for the conversation between Denise and Slavko both of which appear to watch Eric and me.

 

“So,” Eric says, picking up a piece of toast from my plate and taking a bite from it. “Have you learned respect for your leaders yet?”

 

“For my leaders, yes,” I say, grabbing the toast and throwing it on the floor. “For a prick who just bark orders all day, no.”

 

Eric lunges forward, wrapping his hands around my neck. I claw at his hands for a moment before reaching for his eyes. He pushes my hands away. I can’t breathe. My chest begins to ache as I struggle for any type of air. I try to scream for help, claw at the table, but everyone nearby nearly watches the event unfold.

 

“Eric!” Max yells. “I need to speak with you.”

 

Eric looks towards the entrance of the dining hall for a brief moment before looking back at me.

 

“Stay out of my way,” he says, releasing me with a shove before standing up and following Max out of the dining hall. 

 

“Are you insane?” Slavko asks.

 

“I don’t like overly controlling pricks who act like the world exist merely to serve them,”I reply.

 

“But Sander,” Denise says,” He’s a Dauntless leader! He could make your life a living hell! I mean, if he wanted to bad enough, he could make you factionless!”

 

“Okay, calm down,” I say. “I’ll do what he says, but if he pushes I’m taking his ass down.”

 

“Still not a good idea,” Slavko says, putting the last of his muffin in his mouth.

 

“It’s seven forty-eight. We need to go,” Denise says, standing up with Slavko. “See you later, Sander!”

 

I wait for them to walk out of the dining hall before I myself walk out. I quickly make my way to the training room - most of the other transfers already in there. Earning a few odd looks when I walk in, scan the room, waiting for something to happen. After a few seconds the looks go away.

 

“You know it’s unheard of for someone to transfer from Amity to Dauntless, right?” a boy says excitedly, jumping in front of me.

 

“No it’s not, Keith!” another boy yells, walking over and standing beside him. “There has been one other transfer-”

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know,” Keith says. “But she didn’t even make it onto the train so she doesn’t count!”   
  


“Yes she did!” the other boy argues.

 

“No she didn’t!”

 

The two continue to yell at each other - arguing about a topic that doesn’t really matter to me - but it is kind of amusing. Keith is interesting - almost childlike in his features. Ginger hair hangs on his head like a frayed mop and covers hazel eyes; however, the other boy was much different: shorter, muscular, and with spiked white-blond hair revealing bright blue eyes. Still, despite the contrasting looks, their personalities could have been twins. 

 

A tall, slender boy with long brown hair walks over, covering both of their mouths with his hands. 

 

“It doesn’t matter so will you two please shut the hell up!” he snaps, taking his hands off of their mouths. “Now why don’t you introduce me to your cute friend here?”

 

“Oh my god, why do you two flirt with everyone you see?” the blond boy yells.

 

“I don’t do that!” Keith yells back. “That’s just him!”

 

“Just because I call someone cute or pretty does not mean I’m flirting with them!” the tallest boy says.

 

“Well that’s what it means where I come from!” the blond boy yells.

 

“No one cares where you come from, Bert!” the tall boy yells back.

 

“I’m not Bert!” the blond yells. “I’m Oliver!”

 

“Oh right,” the tall boy says, his voice lowering. “You’re the annoying one.”

 

The blond steps forward and punches the taller boy in the throat. In return, the taller boy tackles the blond and punches him in the gut, and before long the rest of the transfers gather around the two boys. Chants of encouragement ripple throughout the crowd as Keith sighs and puts his head in his hands to hide his face.

 

“They’ve been doing this since we got here,” he says, shaking his head. 

 

“Hey!”

 

The crowd splits, and Four walks through and pulls the, now still, boys apart from one another. I almost expect them to begin pinning the blame on one another, but they don’t. Perhaps they tried that already.

 

“If you two waste my time with this shit again, I’ll make sure you both end up factionless,” Four says. “Now everyone follow me.”

 

Keith helps up his two friends, and then we follow Four and the rest of the transfers into a different room. Targets line one of the walls. On the other side of the room is a table with guns laid out across it.

 

“Line up over there,” Four says, pointing to the side of the room where the table is, “Across from a target.”

 

Everyone moves into a line. I end up between Keith’s two friends. Four walks over to the table and takes several guns. He begins handing them out.

 

“Today you will learn to shoot a gun,” he says, placing a gun in the tall boy’s hands, “And win a fight.”

 

Four finishes passing out guns before taking one himself and facing one of the targets. He places his feet about shoulder width apart, firmly holding the gun with both hands, then fires. A loud band echoes throughout the room. The bullet had gone through the middle of the target.

 

“Now shoot,” he yells.

 

Everyone raises their guns. An Erudite transfer is the first to fire, and soon everyone else follows. I hold the gun firmly in my hands, placing my feet about a shoulder width apart with one slightly behind the other. I stare at the target, but my hands are shaking too bad to aim the gun. Sighing, I reposition myself slightly before bringing the gun back up.

 

“You know,” the tall boy says, once again firing his weapon, “You can’t hit the target if you don’t shoot.”

 

I aim my gun and pull the trigger. The recoil is stronger than I expected, and my hands fly back and the gun hits my face.

 

“Nice,” the boy says. “Well, at least you aim well, but that won’t help you if you drop the gun.”

 

Looking at the target, I see the bullet went through the center. I aim again, this time preparing myself for the recoil, and fire. The bullet doesn’t go through the center, but it was close. I aim and fire for hours, learning how to reload a gun and talking to the tall boy in the process. I find out his name is Reece, and he transferred from Candor. I also find out the blond boy’s name is Oliver, and he transferred from Erudite.

 

I aim my gun once again, and right as I shoot I’m pushed, sending the bullet into the wall. I fall, quickly getting back up and looking to see it was Oliver who pushed me, although I don’t think he noticed. He and Keith were laughing and pushing each other, occasionally grabbing each other’s guns to mess up their aim. It didn’t take long for Four to notice, walking up behind them and pulling the guns out of their hands. Oliver and Keith look behind them, worried looks on their faces.

 

“You do not play around while you have a loaded gun!” Four yells. “If you do anything like this again, I will put a bullet through both of your heads. Got it?”

 

Oliver and Keith nod, silent for once. The other transfers stared at them, all silent as if it was them getting yelled at.

 

“Put your guns on the table and go to lunch!” Four yells to all of us.

 

I walk over to the table and put my gun down. I then walk out of the room, kicking pebbles on the floor as make my way to the dining hall.

 

“Hey, Amity!” Keith says, throwing his arm over my shoulders. “You should sit with us.”

 

“Yeah,” Oliver says, walking up to the other side of me and awkwardly throwing his arm over my shoulders as well. “Not with those losers.”

 

Oliver motions to a group of transfers who are muttering to each other, occasionally glancing at us. It’s not hard to see why. After all, Keith and Oliver could have ended up killing one of them, and I myself stuck out for transferring from Amity.

 

“You know my name isn’t Amity,” I say. “It’s Sander.”

 

“Well then, Sander,” Oliver says, “You’re coming with us!”

 

They continue to drag me with them, finally letting do once we reach the dining hall. We walk to the bar of food, each grabbing I plate. I get a hamburger, some other kind of sandwich, and a piece of cake. I follow Keith and Oliver to an almost empty table - a few dauntless members sitting towards the end -  and sit down. Keith sits to my left and Oliver to my right, and it isn’t long before Reece sits down across from me.

 

"You two," Reece says, looking back and forth between Oliver and Keith, "Are idiots."

 

"Calm down, Reece," Oliver says. "It's not like anyone got hurt."

 

"Yeah. I mean, you did worse when we were still in Candor," Keith says. "Remember the time when-"

 

"Okay okay I get it," Reece says. "I used to do the same thing, but Kieth please just try not to hurt anyone."

 

"Don't worry Reecey," Oliver says, putting his across my shoulders and placing a hand on Keith’s arm. "I'll make sure these two stay under control."

 

"If they're controlled by you then heaven help us," Reece replies.

 

The dining hall grows silent once again. The sound of boots hitting the floor echoes off the stone walls. Keith rolls his eyes as Oliver and Keith look to each other in terror. The silence only last for a moment before Eric sits down beside Max and conversation picks back up.

 

"Why does everyone always go silent when Eric walks in?" I ask.

 

"Umm...because he's insane!" Kieth says.

 

"He's not insane," Reece says, earning odd looks from Oliver and Keith. "He's just cruel. If he's not with the other leaders, he has a problem with the person he's sitting next to."

 

"Yeah. I heard he has a problem with one of the initiates," Oliver says. "I would hate to be them, or even be friends with them. I mean, do you realize what he would do if he hated you? He would probably take them to an Erudite lab to be experimented on!"

 

"Who would take someone to be experimented on?"

 

Oliver and Keith turn around before once again exchanging looks of terror. Then, they run out of the dining hall, leaving their uneaten food on the table. Eric laughs - at least I think it’s a laugh - and sits where Oliver was sitting. He takes the sandwich off of my plate.

"I love these," he says, taking a bite of the sandwich.

 

"I'm surprised you can love anything," I mutter, staring at my plate.

 

"What was that?" Eric asks, leaning forward as if to threaten me. 

I look over at him. Cold, sadistic, but still not angry. That look - the one kin to amusement - bothers me. I can’t place it. Instead of challenging him any longer, I heed Denise’s advice and look down at my plate.

 

"Nothing," I reply.

 

He looks at me as if trying to figure out what I’m up to - what I’m hiding. It makes me want to run: to lock myself away in some dark cave in the Dauntless compound where Eric will never be able to find me. It makes me think he’ll get me somehow. I don’t know how, but it won’t be pleasant.

 

"So how did your training go?" he asks, taking another bite of the sandwich.

 

"We're not friends so stop trying to act like it," I hiss.

 

"I'm just trying to get to know the only Amity transfer," he says in an almost friendly way. Almost.  "I mean, your stay will be very short after all."

I start to move to punch him, but I stop myself. Eric looks at me, that look kin to amusement, with an eyebrow raised.

 

"What's wrong? Out of things to say?" he taunts.

 

"He doesn't have to say anything," Reece says, gaining Eric's interest. "He'll prove you wrong. In fact, I think that he will be one of the top five initiates."

 

"Is that so?" Eric says, looking back at me. "If you get in the top five initiates, I'll get your damn name tattooed on my ass."

 

"Well I would make that deal," I say, "But your ass isn't worthy of my name."

 

Eric glares at me for a few seconds before smirking and saying, "Time to get back to training, initiate."

 

He stands up and walks back over to Max.

 

"Come on," Reece says, standing up.

 

I follow him, and we walk out of the dining hall in silence. It’s not awkward, but still tense. We continue to the training room in the same fashion, but once we arrive the mood goes back to pre-Eric as Oliver and Keith run up and hug us.

 

"Thank god you're still alive!" Oliver says.

 

"Yeah," Keith adds," We thought for sure he would kill you!"

 

"You two do realize he's just an asshole, right?" I ask. "He won't actually do anything."

 

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Reece says. "He's a leader. He can get away with a lot."

 

"Yeah," Oliver says. "If he did do something Max would cover it up. He doesn't want anyone to think that Dauntless are getting out of control."

 

"I will be fine," I say, rolling my eyes.

 

Soon everyone is in the training room. Four goes over some basic fighting moves - some I know, some I don’t - and then makes us copy him a few times before allowing us to use them on the punching bags.

 

We work on the different fighting techniques on the punching bags for a couple of hours before pairing up to work on our defense techniques. Oliver and Keith pair up with each other. I attempt to pair up with Reece, but a girl partners with him first. Instead, I partner with a Candor girl: Alexia.

 

Alexia is short, thin, has no muscle, and is probably the least threatening person in the Dauntless compound - even if she did put a red streak in her hair. Still, high cheekbones and a well defined jaw line make her look stern.

 

"So, Amity," she says, practicing one of the attacks. "Seems boring."

 

"It is," I reply, easily blocking it, "Which is why I left."

 

"You don't seem Dauntless," she says, blocking one of my attacks, but failing to block the other.

 

"That's because I'm not," I reply.

 

She freezes, standing straight with a look of shock on her face, whispering, "Are yo u....divergent?"

 

"What?" I ask.

 

"Divergent! You know, you don't fit into a category," she says a little louder.

"Oh that," I say. "No, I'm not. Those are just myths. I'm actually Erudite."

 

"Oh," she says, practicing an attack that I once again block. "You had me worried for a second! Although I kind of wish you were Divergent. I always wanted to see what they would do with them."

 

"You talk way too much," I say, practicing an attack.

 

"Well at least I'm not sitting around doing nothing all day," she replies. "I mean no one actually needs Amity."

 

"Bitch, if it wasn't for us you wouldn't have any food," I reply, attacking.

 

"Erudite could probably grow it in a lab," she says, blocking my attack. "And I thought you weren't Amity."

 

"I have friends there," I say blocking her attack.

 

Attack.

 

Block.

 

Attack.

 

Block.

 

It’s very simple - almost mind numbing. Still, our attacks get rougher and rougher with each block until finally she fails to block one of mine, and I accidentally punch her in the face. Or maybe it wasn’t an accident.  She looks up at me, glaring, and looking as if she’s about to try and attack me.

 

"It's six! You can go now," Four yells.

 

Alexia relaxes, smirks, and says, "Watch your back," before leaving the training room with a group of Erudite.

 

I watch her leave, more annoyed than frightened by her threat; however, despite being small herself, Alexia had some friends that could definitely give me some trouble. This thought worries me until Reece walks over, putting an arm around my shoulders.

 

"Want to go get tattoos?" he ask.

 

"You're going to whether you want to or not!" Keith says, grabbing my arm and pulling me with him.

 

I struggle to keep up - his fast pace causing me to slip on the damp floors a couple of times. Keith finally lets go once we're in the pit. From there Oliver, Keith, Reece, and myself make our way to the tattoo parlor. When we get in there I look around at all of the artwork on the walls. Oliver and Reece find the tattoos they want quickly, and Keith soon follows, but I can't find one I like. Well, not enough that I want it permanently on me. Finally I see it.

 

It’s a black leviathan cross with a red dragon wrapping around it. In the center of the symbol is a red and black skull. I pick up the picture, admiring the design.

 

"Is that the one you want?" a voice ask from behind me.

 

I turn around to see a Dauntless man, his skin covered in colorful tattoos.

 

"Yeah," I reply.

 

"Come with me."

 

He leads me into a different room and motions for me to sit down in a chair. The “room” is merely an area sectioned off by a curtains, but it’s still a bit brighter than the rest of the tattoo parlor thanks to a lamp. I sit down in the leather chair, leaning back.

 

"Where do you want it?" he ask.

 

"Right here," I say, motioning to my upper arm.

 

“Okay,” he says. “That’ll be ten points.”

 

“Wait,” I say. “What’s points?”

 

The man laughs, “You get a certain amount of points per month to spend on items you need. Since you’re an initiate, you don’t have to worry about necessities.” He turns towards his computer. “Don’t worry, sweetie, you get twenty five per month. I just need your name.”

 

“Sander Davidson,” I say.

 

The man nods, typing on the computer for a moment. He then turns back to me, taking a purple pen and tracing the design on my arm. Without the color, looks dull. The man takes a tattoo machine and turns it on, dipping the needle in black ink.

 

"This is going to hurt a bit at first," he says, turning the machine on, "But after a few minutes you'll get used to it."

 

I feel the needle pierce my skin. It doesn’t really hurt, but still I tense up. The man scolds me, and I force myself to relax. After a few minutes my arm feels kind of numb, and I start a conversation with the Dauntless man.

 

His name is Xavier Novak, and he was born Dauntless. Still, he surprised everyone when he didn’t defect and decided to stay Dauntless, despite the tragedy caused by the faction as his family was ripped away from him. His mother and father were both killed when he was fourteen while attempting to break up a fight between a group of Dauntless and the Factionless. His brother, who was eighteen at the time, was later executed for killing an Erudite girl who decided to take a shortcut that fateful day.

 

I remember her. She was in my class, and she was smart - even for Erudite. Destined for greatness and leadership, her life was cut short by a stray bullet meant for a bum. I never talked to her, but she seemed nice.

 

After a few hours, the tattoo is finally done. I thank Xavier before meeting up with Oliver and Reece outside the tattoo parlor.

 

"Keith went ahead to get some food before it was all gone," Reece says. "We're meeting him at the glass building where the tracks are."

 

We walk through the Pit, which in now nearly empty. When we get to the glass building Keith is already waiting for us, a sack made out of what looks to be a shirt in his hand. The air is warm, but has a cool breeze between the buildings. The sky is slightly cloudy, but light from the moon still lights the sky.

 

"Come on," Oliver say, starting to slowly walk beside the tracks.

 

There's a light on the tracks, quickly growing larger. Soon the train is in front of us, and we are running along beside it. Keith throws the sack onto the train and then jumps on himself. Oliver is the next to jump on, then it's me. I run faster, grabbing onto one of the outside handles before jumping onto the train, landing beside Oliver. Finally, Reece jumps onto the train.

 

We sit in a circle and Keith opens the sack which, as I thought, is made out of a shirt. Inside is at least twenty hamburgers, along with another sack. He opens the second to reveal several large pieces of chocolate cake, although they have been squashed so they look more like a single large lump.

 

"Keith," Reece says, "Why did you get so many hamburgers?"

 

"Because," Keith says, picking up a hamburger. "Eric walked in and was walking towards the food when I had just gotten there. I had to run."

 

"Why are you so scared of him?" I ask. "He doesn't even know you exist!"

 

"And we want to keep it that way," Oliver says.

 

I shake my head and pick up a hamburger. We eat, talking to each other about our previous factions. Reece and Keith grew up together, and they have always been best friends. They met Oliver and his twin brother, Burt, while on the train from the choosing ceremony. Oliver described Bert as being "a stuck up killjoy"; however, Reece says Bert is just the more logical one of the two, and seems more Erudite than Dauntless. Oliver thinks that his father told Bert to follow Oliver to Dauntless in order to keep an eye on him, but Reece says he's overreacting.

 

"So what about your family?" Reece asks me, ignoring Oliver's and Keith's debate over who had the stricter parents. "What were they like?"

 

"Just typical Amity," I reply. "Hated violence, grew food, raised animals. Basically everything that I hated."

 

Well I wasn’t lying, not fully anyways. Technically the Brents were my family after my parents died, and they did hate violence. Still, I almost felt bad for not mentioning my mother and father, but I don’t need anyone to feel sorry for me.

 

"You hated your family?" Reece asks.

 

"No, not my family. Just...their way of life. I found it boring, and sometimes humiliating. Especially when we were given peace serum."

 

Again, not a complete lie - although I did hate Jessie and, at times, Dax.

 

"Were you always given peace serum?"

 

"It was in the bread, but only in small doses. You only got the high doses if you ‘engaged in conflict.’"

 

"Well at least there's no fighting," Reece says.

 

"I guess, but there's also no standing up for yourself."

 

Reece and I sit in silence for a few minutes, watching Oliver and Kieth's debate. It’s humorous really, but they still take it very seriously.

 

"It's just...weird how someone from Amity could get Dauntless," Reece says. "I mean, they're pretty much complete opposites!"

 

"Well, I didn't actually get Dauntless," I reply. "I got Erudite, but I couldn't see myself working in a lab all day"

 

"Don't like being indoors?"

 

"I don't like having to be still and careful all the time."

 

Oliver jumps off of the train. Keith yells a few swears at him before jumping off after him, disappearing into the tall grass surrounding the tracks.

 

“Come on. We need to make sure they don't end up killing themselves." Reece says, getting up and jumping off the train.

 

    I follow, landing on the soft grass and falling to my knees. Reece helps me up, and we run after Oliver and Keith. To have only met each other a day ago, they seem very close. We follow them through the streets, struggling to keep up with their constant turns, but then we lose sight of them. Reece swears, punching the wall to what appears to be an abandoned building.

 

“We aren’t even supposed to be out here!” Reece says. “I only went along to make sure they didn’t get in trouble.”

 

“Then why’d you invite me?” I ask.

 

“Because we weren’t supposed to get off the train,” Reece replies.

 

I sigh, walking up to him and grabbing his hand. Skin is scraped off, and his knuckles are already beginning to swell. Releasing his hand, I look around and try to figure out where we are. Tall, abandoned buildings surround us, and broken bottles and what looks like needles litter the ground. We’re probably in the middle of a popular Factionless spot.

 

Reece grabs my face, planting his lips on mine. I freeze, my stomach knotting up, but not in the way it had with previous kisses. No, this one isn't as bad, and I don’t feel like I’m about to throw up. In fact, when Reece pulls away I realize I don’t want it to stop.

 

“Sorry,” Reece says, dropping his hands. “I just wanted to do that.”

 

I put my hand behind his head, dragging him back in for another kiss. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he pulls me close, grinding his pelvis into mine. It feels good. I back him up into a wall and lift his leg up to my hip, trying to find more friction.

 

“Wow, I knew you two liked each other, but I didn’t expect that!”

 

I jump away from Reece, feeling bad as the taller boy nearly falls. Oliver and Keith stand at the end of the alley, laughing at us. I feel my cheeks begin to burn.

 

“Guys we need to run,” Oliver says. “Cause we might’ve, uh, pissed off a couple people, so, let’s get out of here!”

 

Oliver and Keith turn and run. Reece and I sprint to catch up, following the two friends who occasionally glance back to make sure we’re there. After a few minutes we are no longer surrounded by large buildings but instead tall grass. Then, we stop.

 

Oliver and Keith look worried, whispering to each other and continuously looking around. Finally, they stop, and the train comes barreling towards us. Oliver and Keith start running, and but Reece’s hand on my shoulder stops me. The train comes and begins to rush past us. Reece begins running, and I follow him. He jumps onto the train, holding a hand out for me to grab. I take it, letting him help me onto the train. We sit down to keep from falling over.

 

“I’m going to kill them when we get back,” Reece says.

 

I laugh, pushing him onto his back.

 

“Calm down,” I say, kissing him.

 

He puts his hands on my shoulders like he’s going to push me off, but he doesn’t. Instead, he moves his hands down to my waist, pulling me down on him. I move his legs apart, grinding against him. Kissing down his neck, I feel him relax under me and push his hips up against mine.

 

“Stop,” Reece says, pushing me off and sitting up.

 

“I thought this is what you wanted,” I reply, moving away from him.

 

“It is, just,” he sighs, “Just not right now. I only met you today, Sander.”

 

I nod and move behind him, wrapping my arm around his waist. He lets me rest my head on his shoulder. We remain like that for the rest of the ride: calm, tired. The rumbling of the train is relaxing - almost making me forget the irritated cut on my lip. Almost.

 

“Come on,” Reece says, standing and offering a hand to me. “It’s time to get off.”

 

I let him jump first. Then, I jump, losing my balance when I land and falling to my knees. Reece laughs, grabbing my arms and helping me back to my feet. Oliver and Keith run up to us, laughing.

 

“Oh my god, that was amazing!” Oliver says.

 

“Yeah, you guys should’ve been there,” Keith adds. “You should’ve seen their faces when we put a box of rats in there!”

 

“What are you two talking about?” Reece asks.

 

“We put a box of rats in Erudite headquarters!” Oliver replies.

 

“What the fuck, Keith!” Reece yells. “Are you trying to get kicked out?”

 

“Calm down, Reece. Oliver did it too!” Keith replies.

 

“What are you guys doing out here?”

 

Cold, sadistic, but not angry. Eric walks out of the glass building, glancing at me before Reece steps between us. I’m thankful for the gesture, not wanting to put up with Eric right now. Reece begins to explain the situation, but Eric cuts him off.

 

“Just go back inside,” he says, “And don’t leave the compound again.”

 

Reece nods, pushing Keith and Oliver in front of him.

 

“Not you,” Eric says, grabbing my arm. He smirks - that cold, sadistic smirk. “I need to show you something.”


	3. Chapter 3

Breakfast the next morning is boring. I eat alone - surrounded by empty seats with only the muttering of Dauntless members at other tables to keep me company. Keith, Oliver, and Reece are all still asleep, and they will most likely stay that way for another hour. Denise and Slavko are nowhere to be seen. So instead of friendly conversation, I sit alone - allowed to be haunted by my own thoughts.

The thought that Eric knows where we went last night is terrifying, and the fact that he didn’t seem bothered by it even more so. He wasn’t in the training room earlier either, but Four was. Maybe he doesn’t normally go in the training room? Although, that seems unlikely. The more likely possibility is that he’s taunting me, but why? Why do I get to be the target of his games, his sadism, his cruelty, and that look - the one akin to amusement.

He gave me that look last night when he led me into the glass building. That look that made me want to hide away forever when he pushed me into a room full of screens and showed me the video of Reece and me on the train. The look I wished would turn into anger but instead remained as he just told me no punishment would come and I should avoid leaving the Dauntless compound next time I wanted to fuck someone.

I finish my muffin and leave the dining hall before Eric can show up. Bored, I wander around the Dauntless compound for a while before going to the tattoo parlor. I wander around, looking at the different designs to see if any catch my eye.

“You already want another tattoo? The other hasn’t even healed yet.”

Laughing, I turn around and say, “Just looking.”

Xavier raises an eyebrow.

“Unless you guys do piercings,” I say.

“Of course we do piercings,” he replies. “But unless you want metal ripped out of your face, I advise you wait until the second stage of initiation - if you even get that far.”

“I’ll get that far.”

“Mhm, now is there anything else you want?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” I ask.

“Been married to him for three years,” Xavier replies. “Why does it matter to you?”

“It’s just, there’s this guy, but I think I fucked it up last night,” I say. “I mean, I thought he was into it. He seemed to be anyways, but then he just...wasn’t all of a sudden.”

“Honey, I’m a tattoo artist, not a therapist,” Xavier says. “But if I were you, I would just give him some space and see what happens.”

I thank him and leave the tattoo parlor. Maybe I should give Reece some space, but he made it seem like he was okay with it - until we got on the train anyways. Although, I could’ve just misread the signals again. 

I walk into the training room, ignoring the stares and snickers from other initiates. Word had gotten around that my busted lip is from the recoil of a gun, and that the light bruising around my neck came from a Dauntless leader. Instead of picking a fight with them, I walk over to one of the punching bags, starting my routine.

A couple jabs with my right hand, a cross over with my left, an uppercut and elbow with my right, and a roundhouse kick. Then, I grab the back, kneeing it a few times before giving it a quick hook. I repeat the pattern. Then again, and again, eventually forgetting the kicks and just punching the bag. I grit my teeth, treating the bag like I want to treat every piece of shit that wronged me: Kiana, Derek, Jessie, Dax, Eric. 

“You know when you punch like that you lose your form.”

I punch the bag once more before placing my hands on it to cease its swinging. Closing my eyes, I internally count to ten before turning to the other boy. Oliver doesn’t give me much time to do anything else before he grabs my arm and drags me over to Keith. 

“So,” Keith says, “You and Reece.”

“What about it?” I ask, pushing Oliver’s hand off my arm.

“Did you fuck him?” Keith asks, biting his thumb.

“Why does it matter to you?”

“Because we’re basically his brothers, Sander,” Oliver says, awkwardly putting his arm on my shoulder. “We just want to make sure you won’t hurt him. Oh, and I was joking about you losing your form.”

“I’m not going to hurt him,” I say.

“Good,” Keith says, smiling.

Another arm is thrown over my shoulders, pushing Oliver’s arm out of the way. I look over to see Reece: smiling, happy and amused. He sighs, hunching over and resting his head on my shoulder.

“I didn’t see you at breakfast,” he says.

“I went early,” I reply, wrapping my arm around his waist.

We stay like that for a few minutes as more initiates begin to walk into the training room. Some snicker and whisper with their friends, giving us the occasional glance. Others ignore us. None of it seems to bother Reece, who continues to pursue small talk about how my morning went. I tell him, leaving out the part about talking to Xavier. 

It isn’t long before Four enters the training room. I let go of Reece, allowing him to stand up straight and pay attention to whatever Four is about to say.

“Today you will be fighting each other for the first time,” Four says.

A murmur of discontent flutters throughout the room; however, I am confident, and it appears Alexia is as well.

“Fighting will begin after lunch,” Four continues. “As for now, pair up with someone and practice, but don’t waste your energy.”

Everyone begins to break into groups. Oliver and Keith pair up again, and the same girl from yesterday begins to walk towards Reece.

“You with me?” Reece asks before the girl can approach him.

“Yeah,” I reply.

I take his hand and lead him away from the other initiates. Once secluded enough, I let go of his hand and turn to face him, spreading my feet and raising my hands.

“Give me your best shot,” I say.

“Really? No ‘How was your day?’ or ‘Want to talk about last night?’” Reece says, teasing I think.

“What, you scared?” I reply.

Reece laughs, taking a different stance and throwing a punch. I block it with my arm, watching him as he throws another punch. This time, instead of just blocking it, I also return the attack, lightly tapping his abdomen. Reece flinches, pushing my hand away. As time goes on we both become more aggressive with our attacks, and we begin to move around more. I land multiple light hits, and Reece lands a few as well, but his movement is awkward - almost jagged - and he throws punches mainly from his left hand, making him too predictable. Finally, he hits my face.

“Fuck!” Reece yells, backing up and shaking his hand. “I think I broke my hand yesterday.”

“Well that tends to happen when you punch walls,” I reply.

Reece looks at me. I can’t tell if it’s in anger, pain, or somewhere in-between, but it makes me immediately regret my choice of words. Muttering an apology, I walk to him, taking his hand in mine and rubbing my finger lightly over his knuckles. A hiss of pain escapes him as he pulls his hand back, holding it to his chest.

“I know you two are in love now or whatever, but stop wasting time and practice!” Four yells from across the room.

“He broke his hand, fuck off!” I yell back.

Reece sends me another look, and this time I confirm that it’s anger.

“Go to the infirmary,” Four commands of Reece. He then turns to me, “Amity, run laps. You get no breaks until you learn to keep your mouth shut.”

“But I-”

“Run, now!” Four yells.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter to Reece before taking off, running around the training room, watching as Reece leaves.

The other initiates stare. They snicker. They whisper. All things I know I would well deserve if it wasn’t for the fact that they aren't doing it because I told Four to fuck off but instead because I’m the only Amity transfer - and I had just been called out. Instead of feeling humiliated I feel angry, pushing myself to go faster through the ache already forming in my legs and the burn in my chest. Anger consumes me, overpowering any physical limitations I may have. But that only lasts for about thirty minutes. As the stares, snickers, and whispers fade, so does the anger and adrenaline that allowed me to push past my limits.

I gasp for air - my throat raw and my feet feeling as if they were made of bricks: heavy and loud. Soon I might as well be walking with the pace my feet are moving, but still, I continue to run. Slow, but running.

The doors to the training room swing open, and Eric saunters in without so much as acknowledging any of the other initiates who stare in fear. Instead, he heads straight for Four, picking up what would seem to be a friendly conversation if Four hadn’t tensed up all of a sudden.

As I got closer, I began to hear some of their conversation.

“You know my answer,” Four said - cold, almost robotic in a way as if he was being forced to rehearse a routine for the Dauntless leader. “Now leave.”

Eric chuckles before turning his head, eyes meeting mine. A chill runs down my spine at the way he looks at me - that look akin to amusement ceasing to exist and replaced by what could not be mistaken as no other than anger. I tuck my head, avoiding eye contact and focusing all my energy on running faster to get away from him. Still, I listen, occasionally glancing towards him.

“Why is he running?” Eric asks.

“Why do you care?” Four snaps back.

Eric shrugs. “Just wondering.”

“He can’t keep his mouth shut,” Four replied.

“Yeah, he has a bit of a problem with that.”

My skin crawls at his starring - his watching, stalking as if about to pounce. And he does pounce. Without even moving, Eric pounces, dragging my dignity to the ground with the words, “Softie, come here!”

I stop running, unsure of what to do. The other initiates begin their staring, snickering, and whispering, but are cut off by a glare from Eric. The Dauntless leader raises his eyebrows, motioning for me to come to him. Slowly, I begin walking towards him.

“Did I tell you to stop running, initiate?” he snaps.

Jumping into a sprint, I run towards him, stopping when I’m about a yard away. I look directly into his eyes - the cold, sadistic, angry eyes. There’s also something else in them this time. It’s not the look akin to amusement, but something different, and I can’t figure out what it is.

“Don’t act shy, initiate,” Eric says, motioning for me to come closer. “With that mouth, you definitely aren’t shy.”

I narrow the distance until I'm about a foot away from him. Eric grabs the back of my neck, pulling me closer to him. I flinch at the feeling of his breath on my skin - hot, sticky, disgusting. My body begs me to run, but I know doing that will only land me in one spot: Factionless.

“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t cut you right now for insubordination,” Eric says.

My heart feels as if it could burst any moment, and my skin feels tingly. I look to Four only to see he has his head down, looking more annoyed than worried about the whole situation. Opening my mouth to say something, I find that I can’t find words, instead just stammering.

“Speak,” Eric hisses.

“Because it’s more of an asset than a liability,” I say, the words rushing out of my mouth as soon as they pop into my head. “I know I can be stubborn at times, but it’s because I have my goals and will do anything to reach them and right now my goal is to become a Dauntless member.”

Eric raises his eyebrow, not even attempting to hide his amusement.

“Dauntless are brave, they don’t give up. That’s what you guys want right?” I continue. “I mean when I become a Dauntless member I’ll be loyal, and you’ll know I won’t betray you because I’m determined to be a Dauntless member and I don’t want to give that up. Just, please. I swear I’ll obey orders now and I’ll keep my head down just, please don’t kick me out.”

“Begging now?” he asks. “Well you’re going to be begging a lot more than that if you want to become a Dauntless member, but for now get back to training, okay softie?”

I nod, willingly backing up when he pushes me away, scared to do anything but obey him for the fear it could land me Factionless.

“That’s enough running for today, initiate,” Eric says, loud enough for Four to hear. “Everyone go to lunch!”

I leave as fast as I can without running, my heart still feeling like it’s about to burst while I make my way to the dining hall. Once there, I get food - a hamburger, a piece of cake, and water - and meet up with Reece, Keith, and Oliver. I sit beside Reece.

“How’s your hand?” I ask, my voice sounding too soft. I’m surprised Reece can even hear me.

“They put a bandage on it and gave me a shot to numb it,” Reese says, “But the nurse said not much could be done until after the first stage of initiation.”

We talk and eat, Oliver and Keith apologizing for ditching me in the training room and explaining they didn’t want to be around Eric any longer than they had to. I understand - I don’t want to be around him any longer than I have to either, but I’m not given much of a choice. Still, I wonder what mistake I made for him to choose me as his target of harassment. Perhaps it’s because I’m from Amity, or maybe he knows Ethan, but either way, there are times where I almost wish I had chosen Erudite. At least there I wouldn’t have to put up with Eric, but maybe there is someone just as bad there. Maybe god just hates me.

Silence.

The familiar click of boots against the floors once again sends that chill down my spine. Resting my head on Reece’s shoulder, I glance over at Eric. His eyes are cold, still angry, and he merely glances at me before walking over to Max and sitting across from him. Part of me feels relieved - as if my burden has been lifted - but the other part of me feels almost paralyzed with fear as if he was just waiting to attack.

“We need to go,” I say, standing up.

“Why?” Reece asks. “We just got here.”

“Please,” I say.

Reece nods, whispering, “Okay,” and we leave, going back to the training room.

It’s empty - all the other initiates most likely at lunch. Reece and I sit beside the door, not touching each other or talking. We just sit silently, almost peacefully.

“What happened with you and Eric?” Reece asks. “Keith told me he called you out.”

I sigh, “He threatened to cut me.”

“He can’t do that,” Reece says, looking at me. “You’re one of the best here. He can’t just cut you.”

“He can if he wants,” I reply. “I don’t think he’s going to though - at least not yet.”

Reece lowers his head, staring at the floor - defeated. Honestly, I feel the same way. There’s no escaping Eric. There’s nowhere to go where he can’t, no way to fight him, no way to outsmart him. Once you’re in his sight you’re trapped, and I’m not just in his sight. I’m a thorn in his side.

We sit silently beside the door, defeated, as other initiates begin to return. Some come in groups, some in pairs, and some alone. It isn’t long before Oliver and Keith come bouncing in, and Reece and I put on a mask - smiling and laughing at their story about how Oliver “almost died” after his run in with Max, who in reality probably has forgotten about the occurrence by now.

When Four walks into the room, Reece and I stand up, and a sudden hush falls over the room as everyone begins to recognize the harsh reality that is about to unfold.

“In a few minutes you will begin your first fight,” Four says, walking into the center of the arena. “You will be ranked accordingly. If you realize you’re in a fight you can’t win, you can concede, but try your best to avoid that. Good luck, and fight hard.

“Sander and Jenny, you’re up first.”

Four steps out of the arena while Jenny and I make our way into it. Jenny transferred from Candor, and she’s one of the more physically fit of us - thick muscle on her body; however, the amount of muscle she has makes little difference in her fighting ability. I know I can easily win - and that’s what makes it almost insulting that she’s my first fight. Not because she’s a girl, but because she only has average fighting skill.

“Come on,” Four says. “Don’t take all day.”

Jenny steps forward, taking her stance and shuffling forward. I step forward, allowing her to circle me, moving with her as to not be blindsided. Her movement is quick, jumpy, jagged. Finally, she lunges forward, throwing a punch which I easily block. Still, my arm stings at the force. She lunges forward again, attempting to land a hit but seemingly not aiming for anywhere in particular. This time I step aside instead of blocking, promptly taking my stance and giving a quick jab to the side of her face. My knuckles sting more that when I hit a punching bag, but not by much. 

Her face twists into some distorted scowl, and her leg flies through the air, hitting my side. It hurts - like being stabbed. I step back, watching as she shuffles towards me. Throwing a punch, I lunge forward, grabbing her hair with my other hand and bringing my elbow around to land a quick hit to her face before releasing her. She folds into herself but manages to stay upright. Wasting no time, I grab the back of her head, pushing it down and bringing my knee up in one swift motion. Her teeth press into my skin, but it’s not intentional. She doesn’t even close her jaw. 

Jenny lunges forward, wrapping her arms around me and throwing me off balance, throwing us both to the ground. A numbing pain shoots through my back and head, and I struggle to push her off and scramble to my feet. My mind is numb, so I just step forward and kick. There's a sharp pain that shoots through my toes, but I fight through it, kicking her stomach a few times before stepping back, allowing her to stand up.

I know it’s time to finish it, so I step forward, getting ready for my final attack

“Stop!” she yells, holding her hands out in front of her. “Stop! I concede! I concede!”

I look to Four, who sighs and nods for me to come over to him. Two other transfers, assumably Jenny’s friends, rush over to her and hug her, pulling her out of the arena. Four taps his fingers on his arms, impatient.

“Why didn’t you fight?” Four asks.

I cross my arms. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t fight. I’ve seen what you can do,” he says. “You just played around.”

“It was my first fight, will you relax?” I reply.

“It’s everybody’s first fight, and I guarantee you everyone else will fight a hell of a lot harder than you,” he says. “Now go practice on a bag until everyone is done.”

I have to clench my jaw to hold my tongue as I walk over to the punching bags. Following my usual routine, I continue to watch the fights from afar. Alexia is up next, her opponent being one of the weakest among us. Soon, I realize why as their fight isn’t brutal and looks more like two baby giraffes playing with each other than an actual fight. Still, Alexia wins, strutting away proudly at her victory, or maybe it was the boy’s defeat.

Reece is up next, and I feel sick when I see who his opponent is.

Elizabeth Powell. She’s strong, muscular, and tall - taller than me. When one thinks of her the first word that pops into their head is often vicious, cruel, or manipulative, and all of those are correct. She transferred from Erudite, where her parents were doctors. She was always nice to me, but that kindness was rooted in sympathy. Her parents were the doctors who took care of my two brothers and me while we were in the hospital after the fire. She often came to visit us, bearing gifts such as puzzles and books, but that was a long time ago. Now she shows no mercy, even to the weakest of her victims.

Reece loses his fight, Four breaking them apart once the winner is clear and Reece refuses to concede. Keith also loses his fight, conceding after about twenty minutes; however, Oliver wins, beating a hefty Erudite transfer, but still leaving the arena with a slight limp and a bloody nose. 

It’s only minutes before the rankings are written on an old chalkboard. I walk up beside Reece, reading the board. I quickly find my name placed on the top row. I’m second, below Elizabeth and above someone named Jonathan, who I assume is Dauntless born. Oliver is seventh, and Reece is ninth. Keith is twenty-sixth - directly below the red line marking who gets cut at the end of the first stage.

“Come on,” Reece says, taking my hand and leading me out of the training room.

Once we get outside the training room, Reece starts pacing around, running his fingers through his hair, and muttering to himself. Then he turns, punching the stone wall at full force. He cries out, folding into himself and clutching his already bandaged hand to his chest - tears streaming down his face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, walking over to him and placing my hands on his arms.

“He’s going to get cut,” Reece says. “He doesn’t want to push himself. He gives up too easy.”

“Keith?” I ask.

Reece nods, keeping his head down. I wrap my arms around him, tracing circles on his back. After a moment, Reece huge me back, his grip almost too tight as his crying begins to slow.

“He’s not going to get cut,” I say, pulling away from him and running my fingers through his hair. “I’ll make sure he won’t get cut.”

I kiss him - slow, gentle. Reece kisses back, moving his hands down to my waist and pulling me closer to him. I rest my head on his shoulder as he slowly stops crying. I want him to stop. For the first time in my life, I actually care about someone outside of my family, and realization terrifies me.

“I want you to fuck me,” Reece whispers, kissing my neck and pulling my hips into his.

“Are you sure?” I reply, my stomach clenching.

“Yeah,” he says.

“We can go to the dorms,” I say. “Everyone will be at dinner.”

“Yeah,” Reece says. “Please.”

I nod, hesitantly stepping away from him. I take his hand in mine, and we make our way to the dormitory, more and more tension growing between us, but I don’t mind. As predicted, it’s empty, and I promptly grab Reece, throwing him on my bed and climbing on top of him.

“Fuck that hurt,” he says, kissing me.

“Sorry,” I mutter, pulling his shirt over his head.

I begin to grind against his groin, quickly becoming hard. Reece groans, pulling at my shirt. Slowly, I kiss down his torso, smiling as he urges me to go faster, thrusting his hips up. I kiss him through his pants, sucking through the black denim.

“You look fucking hot when you do that,” Reece says, sighing and putting a hand behind his head.

“And you look hot when you work out,” I say, climbing back on top of him. “You have a nice ass. Not big, but nice.”

“Thanks for telling me I have a small ass,” he says, pouting.

I laugh. “I said it was nice.”

Reece trails his fingers up my side, gently going over the forming bruise. His touch somehow manages to force all of the anxiety about the situation to leave my body - at least for the moment.

“You ever going to fuck my nice ass?” Reece teases. “Or are you just going to stare at me?”

“You ever done this before?” I ask, lifting myself off of him.

“Yeah,” he says, kicking his shoes onto the floor. “You?”

I shrug, kicking off my own shoes and unzipping my pants. To be fair, the times I did have sex I didn’t enjoy it, and it was much different from what I’m about to do.

Reece kicks the remainder of his clothing onto the floor, leaving him fully exposed. Smirking, he gives himself a quick few pumps before I grab his wrist, placing it on his chest. Raising an eyebrow, he watches me as I once again kiss down his torso, only stopping on his cock for a moment as I lift his legs up. Then, I move down to his entrance, circling my tongue around him. I put a finger in him, working him until I can stick another in.

“You know you don’t have to do that, right?” Reece says. “I kind of enjoy the pain.”

“You sure?” I ask, continuing to work him.

“Yeah,” he says.

I nod, pulling my fingers out and climbing back on top of him, positioning myself at his entrance. Slowly, I thrust in, not going far before pulling back and repeating the process, slowly filling him. Soft grunts begin to fill the room as I find a steady pace. Reece tenses, grabbing my shoulders and letting out a soft cry.

“What?” I yell. “Fuck, what did I do?”

“It’s fine, Sander,” he whispers, pulling me down and kissing my neck. “Just keep doing that.”

I nod, trying my best to repeat what I had just done. Apparently successful, Reece cries out again, biting softly into my shoulder to muffle his grunts. The action is hot - making my stomach clench and my grunts become a bit louder. My head begins to feel foggy, and my thrust more jagged. Reece reaches down, wrapping his hand around his cock and giving it a few pumps as he kissed my neck. I look up, giving Reece the access he craves.

Eric is standing in the doorway, staring at us. His eyes are cold, sadistic, and still angry, but he doesn’t act. He just stands there, staring - face void of expression. So I smile, looking directly into his eyes as my stomach begins to clench.

Reece tightens around me, crying out and biting into my shoulder once again as a sticky fluid forms between us.

“Fuck,” I mutter, no longer able to continue looking up as my stomach clenches hard, my thrust becoming short and rough.

I give a few final thrust before pulling out, collapsing on top of Reece. The ecstasy only lasts a few seconds, soon replaced by fear. I start sucking on Reece’s neck, making sure a bruise has formed before I roll off of him. I look to the doorway.

It’s empty.


	4. Chapter 4

The Pit is busy as usual after dinner - almost no one quietly hanging out but instead yelling and roughhousing in the narrow walkways. Dark shadows cast themselves along the walls where the dim lighting refuses to touch. Every so often I hear music: loud, harsh rhythms with deep undertones - much different from the soft melodies of Amity.

The tattoo parlor is the same, the loud music playing through speakers on the wall. It wasn’t playing the last times I was here, but maybe the speakers were broken. Without much thought, I make my way over to Xavier, who is hanging new artwork on the wall.

“I want a piercing.”

The picture he’s hanging on the wall is two snakes intertwining with each other almost like they are battling. Each scale looks as if it has been individually drawn and shaded, and it would definitely take hours to transfer onto someone’s skin.

“Honey, I thought we had this conversation,” Xavier says, securing the picture to the wall before turning to me. “Unless you want metal ripped out of your face, wait until after initiation.”

“But I want a tongue piercing,” I reply.

Xavier raises an eyebrow, his eyes moving to the side of my neck. I feel my cheeks turn red, wishing the artwork didn’t have lights directly above it.

“You know you won’t be able to give oral or kiss anyone for two weeks if you get a tongue piercing, right?” he says.

I bring my hand up to my neck - an action that most likely draws more attention to the marks instead of averting it like I want.

“What makes you think I’m going to want to give oral?” I ask, hoping he won’t call me out.

“Honey, please. With those bruises everyone knows what you’ve been doing,” Xavier says. “I’m guessing you didn’t give your little boyfriend much space then.”

Putting my hands over my face, I sigh. I knew people would see my neck and know what Reece and I have been doing, but I didn’t think they would bluntly point it out. It’s embarrassing that someone just bluntly pointed it out, but at the same time I almost want to flaunt the marks. The sex was hot, fulfilling, and the fact that Eric saw us made it even more thrilling. Honestly, I’m proud of what I did. That’s why I didn’t wear my jacket.

“So I can’t kiss at all if I get it?” I ask, hoping to get the subject off of what I’ve been doing with my dick.

“You can give little pecks, but no tongue.”

“That’s fine.”

Xavier rolls his eyes. “Let me finish this and I’ll do it. Go wait at my station.”

Thanking him, I smile and walk to his station, sitting in the leather chair. My ribs hurt due to a distinct bruise that had formed from where Jenny kicked me. Despite knowing she only did what she had to, and I would do the same thing if I were her, I can’t help but hold a small grudge.

I hold even more of a grudge against Elizabeth. After Reece had come down from his after-sex-high, he began complaining about being in pain, drawing my attention to the many bruises that littered his body. Thus, instead of joining me at the tattoo parlor, he decided to take a shower and go to sleep early.

“Fuck and flee? Damn, that’s harsh.”

Eric walks into the room, taking a chair and pulling it up beside me. I avoid eye contact, becoming self-conscious of my neck. His eyes scan me, I can feel it, unable to tell if he’s still angry, but sure his eyes still hold that cold sadism that makes me want to hide and not be found.

He touches my arm, giving me the same feeling as an electric shock, and the same involuntary retraction into myself. Immediately regretting my reaction, I look up at Eric, watching as he slowly reaches for my arm again. He lifts up the sleeve of my shirt, examining my tattoo, his touch making my skin tingle. I wince as he rubs his thumb over the design, the skin still sore from yesterday.

Xavier walks into the room, holding a metal tray. He doesn’t acknowledge Eric, but he doesn't acknowledge me either, going straight to setting up. Eric pushes my sleeve down, leaning back in his chair and watching Xavier set up his station.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Xavier asks, turning to me and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah,” I say.

He sighs. “Okay, but if it gets ripped out, don’t blame me.”

Xavier picks up a purple marker from the tray, walking over and sitting on a stool beside the chair.

“Stick your tongue out for me,” he says.

“Bet your boyfriend says that a lot,” I say, sticking my tongue out.

Xavier doesn’t react to my comment, instead lifting my tongue. He lets go, takes the lid off the marker, and draws a dot on my tongue. Closing the marker, he turns around, then putting the marker on the tray and picking up a pair of forceps. He wraps a rubber band around it.

“Swallow,” he says.

I swallow, promptly sticking my tongue back out after. Xavier gets a piece of cotton and dries off my tongue before placing the forceps on my tongue. He checks the underside of my tongue before picking up a needle. Instinctively, I pull back.

“Ah ah ah,” Xavier scolds, placing the needle back on the tray. “Calm down.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eric move, quickly moving out of my peripheral vision. He puts his hands on my shoulders, the weight enough to cause a slight pain due to the bite Reece left. Eric rubs his thumbs in circles on my neck as he leans down. Hot breath makes my skin feel sticky - like I need to take a shower. His presence is almost enough to make me forget about Xavier readjusting the forceps on my tongue. Almost.

“C’mon, softie,” Eric says as Xavier picks up the needle. “Be brave.”

Xavier pushed the needle through my tongue, the pain lasting only a second. He then grabs a barbell from the tray and lines it up with the needle, shoving it through the newly formed hole. It hurts, and I can’t help but cry out a little as he does so. Soon, the bar is through, and Xavier screws the ball on the end and releases my tongue.

My tongue is sore, and I quickly pull it back into my mouth. Eric stands up straight, keeping his hands placed firmly on my shoulders. It’s not a comfort, but more of a threat. As if to say that he can do whatever he wants to me, and I can’t do or say anything about it or I’ll end up Factionless.

“Here,” Xavier says, handing me a plastic bag. “Take one of each pill once a day, and make sure you brush your teeth twice a day. Avoid kissing, spicy foods, hot foods, alcohol, oral sex - or just putting anything in your mouth that isn’t food or a toothbrush. Don’t take the piercing out, and if it gets ripped out, come directly here so I can see if there’s any way to put another barbell in. If not you’ll go to the infirmary and get antibiotics so it won’t get infected. Try not to play with it like everyone in this place loves to do for some reason. Clean the underside of it once a day with a cotton ball, and eats lots of ice and just cold things in general. Everything you need is in that bag, along with a sheet that has everything I just told you on it. Come back here after about two weeks so I can give you a shorter barbell.”

Xavier quickly placed everything back on the tray and left the room. I slowly stand up, waiting for Eric to move his hands from my shoulders. He doesn’t, keeping one arm around my shoulders and moving beside me. Pulling me into what would be considered a hug if from anyone else, he guides me out of the tattoo parlor. I keep my head low, listening to the hush and murmurs from groups we pass. He silently guides me through various walkways. Looking up, I realize no one else is around. My stomach clenches, and I feel as if my heart could burst at any moment.

“How did your first fight go?” Eric asks. “You win?”

“Yeah,” I say, the piercing making it hard to talk. “She conceded.”

“She what?” Eric snaps. “Speak up, softie.”

“Don’t call me that,” I snap back, pushing his arm off my shoulder.

Eric grabs my arms, throwing me back against the jagged stone. Before I can run his hand is around my neck, keeping me there and leaning close. His breath is hot on my face, his grip slowly tightening around my throat. I drop the plastic bag and grab his wrist, not pulling or clawing, too scared to do anything but stand there. 

My eyes start to feel wet, and I blink several times to prevent the tears from falling. I can’t let him see me cry - he’ll take that as winning, and he can’t win. The mere thought of being mentally broken by the Dauntless leader is enough to make me angry and disregard his earlier threat about cutting me for insubordination. He won’t cut me.

“You’re going to tell me what you said, or I’m going to kill you,” Eric hisses. “Got it?”

I nod. Eric slowly loosens his grip, hand remaining on my neck. Coughing, my grip on him tightens.

“She conceded,” I say.

“Stop crying,” he snaps. “She conceded?”

“Yes, she fucking conceded,” I reply. “And I’m not crying you prick. It’s an involuntary reaction. You should know that.”

 

“What did I tell you about respecting your leaders?” Eric says. “If I see you again tonight, you’re out.

He pushes my hands off his wrist, turning and walking away soon disappearing into the shadows of the Dauntless compound. I pick up the plastic bag, then head back to the dormitory, not wanting to risk getting cut.

When I get to the dorm, Reece is asleep, curled up around his pillow. Other than that the room is empty - silent except for the squeak of my sneakers and Reece’s slow breathing. I put the plastic bag in one of the drawers under my bed before kicking off my shoes and laying down, staying on top of the covers.

My body aches, my neck and side producing the worst of the pain. It’s just enough to be annoying, distracting me from the sleep I know I need but don’t want. I stare at the ceiling for hours as one by one, pair by pair, group by group the other initiates wander into the dormitory. At some point the lights go out, leaving me alone in the darkness, waiting for morning to come.

My tongue is swollen the next morning, making brushing my teeth difficult to do without provoking a stabbing pain around my piercing. After a quick shower, I drop my clothes and the plastic bag off at the dormitory and head to the dining hall. 

A few Dauntless members sit together at one of the tables, and the cooks are setting out food, but other than that the dining hall is empty. Straying from my routine, I forgo my usual muffins and toast, instead getting a cup of ice and settling down at an empty table. I slip a piece of ice into my mouth, moving it over my piercing in an attempt to numb the aching pain.

“Hey, Sander,” Denise says, plopping down in front of me, Slavko at her side.

Slavko gives me a concerned look. “What happened to your,” he motions to my neck and face.

“Fighting,” I say, bringing the cup of ice up to my lips. “And I had a run-in with Eric.”

I know Denise is giving me a disapproving look, despite my vision being blocked by the metal cup. Sliding another piece of ice into my mouth, I set the cup back on the table.

“Sander, I thought you agreed to lay low for a bit,” Denise says. ‘You know, to see if Eric backs off.”

“No, I said I would do what he says,” I reply, getting more and more used to the piece of metal permanently in my mouth. “And I did.”

“Then why did do that?” Denise repeats Slavko’s motions.

“I don’t know. He just got mad all of a sudden,” I say.

“So he just came up to you and started beating you?” Denise asks.

“No,” I reply, getting annoyed by the whole situation. “He was in the tattoo parlor when I got my tongue pierced. Then he led me to god knows where, but there was no one else around and he started asking me questions then just got mad all of a sudden.”

“Sounds like he’s trying to kill you,” Slavko jokes, stuffing a piece of chocolate muffin into his mouth.

Denise rolls her eyes. “Sander, just try to lay low for a bit, okay? I actually want you to make it to the second stage of initiation.”

“I think you have more to worry about than he does,” Slavko says. “He’s second. You’re like fifteenth.”

“Yes, but Eric doesn’t want to kill me,” she replies.

I slip another piece of ice into my mouth. “If he kills me, then he kills me, but he’ll get executed as well.”

“Not if he makes it look like an accident,” Slavko jokes.

I smile, the stretching of my skin pulling at the small cut on my lip. If Eric kills me, then so be it, but I’ll make sure it won’t look like an accident. Even with a gun, Erudite has technology that can trace it back to the owner, and Dauntless would do all they can to make sure a traitor isn’t living among them.

“So Sander,” Slavko says, putting another piece of muffin in his mouth. “I heard you had a boyfriend.”

“From who?” I asked. 

“Just rumors,” Slavko replies, smiling. “Is it true?”

I shrug. “You could say that.”

The fact that other initiates know about Reece and me means I’ve attracted more attention than desired, but maybe it could help me. People aren’t going to notice or care if random bruises suddenly appear on me, but maybe they would notice if I went missing or turned up dead.

After talking with Denise and Slavko for a few more minutes as the dining hall fills up, then I leave, not keen on the mass amount of people. I head directly to the training room, deciding it wouldn't hurt to exercise some. After all, it’s not like Four is going to push us too hard after our first fight.

But Eric might. 

He looks over when I walk into the room, his gaze once again filled with that look akin to amusement. Four looks over as well before rolling his eyes, walking to the back of the training room. Whatever Eric was saying is making him angry, and there’s probably not much he can do about it considering Eric’s title.

I look to the floor, running my hand through my hair as I walk over to a punching bag. My hair is still too long, falling into my face as I take a couple jabs. The bag barely moves, absorbing every punch thrown at it until finally, I give up, merely jabbing at it as other initiates walk into the training room. 

Everyone is quieter than normal, whispering among each other in groups and pairs instead of the normal yelling and roughhousing. Oliver and Keith both go silent as soon as they walk through the door, trailing behind Reece and keeping their eyes on Eric. I leave the punching bag, meeting up with Reece.

“Why is Eric in here?” he asks, wrapping an arm around my waist.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “He was talking to Four when I got here. Four’s pissed.”

Reece looks around, leaning closer to me. “Do you think this has anything to do with the other night?” he asks. “Do you think he’s going to kick us out for leaving?”

“No. No, he wasn’t mad about that. He was,” I pause, searching for the word I was looking for - a word to describe something that I couldn’t even recognize. “I don’t know.”

The room grows silent as Eric walks into the center of the arena, Four grudgingly leaving the back of the training room and taking his place outside the large circle.

“Alright, gather around,” Eric yells.

Reece gives me a small squeeze before dropping his arm, following the rest of the transfers to the edge of the arena, no one going too close to the red line creating some sort of intangible barrier. Eric’s gaze moves among us, curious, bored.

“You all had your first fight yesterday, and as you know you were ranked accordingly,” Eric says. “But what you don’t know, or what Four failed to inform you, is that conceding is not allowed this year - new rules.”

He’s enjoying this, humiliating Four and playing with us. Eric smiles at the looks on everyone’s faces, the few murmurs that circulate before the room once again falls silent. He continues.

“So today you will fight again,” Eric says, looking towards the chalkboard where are ranking are written. “Elizabeth, Sander - you’re up first.” He looks directly at me, smirking as I slowly walk to the arena. “Should be easy since your opponents conceded yesterday.”

“Reece didn’t concede,” Elizabeth says, stepping forward, but not into the arena. “He kept fighting. Four told us when to stop.”

Eric turns to her. “Well good for him. That makes him braver than half of you, but it doesn’t change anything. You still fight.” He turns to the rest of the transfers. “All of you.”

Lowering her gaze, Elizabeth walks into the arena as Eric backs out. We stand at apart from each other, out of reach, waiting to see who makes the first move. I step to the side, watching as she does the same, keeping the distance between us. 

While Elizabeth did beat Reece yesterday, she didn't escape unscathed. Her nose is broken, her knuckles split, and from the way she was walking Reece must’ve damaged her ankle somehow. 

“Fight!” Eric yells.

Raising my hands to guard my face, I shuffle forward, continuing to move to the side. Elizabeth rushes forward, annoyed with my antics, and takes a quick jab before shuffling back. It’s a warning, not hitting, but merely a display of her abilities. I watch, waiting for her to make her next move.

She does, throwing a quick hook to my face that I’m able to block and another to my side that I can’t. Stumbling back, hand over my ribs, I shuffle to the side. It hurts to breathe, but I can’t think about that right now. I have to pay attention to the way she tenses, knees bent, about to lunge forward with another attack. This time I’m able to jump aside, but my foot slips, and I’m unable to counterattack. Instead, I circle around her, keeping low to the ground until I see my chance - throwing a hook that connects to the side of her face, splitting the cuts on my knuckles open.

Elizabeth lets her head move to the side, returning the punch. Blocking it, I lower myself and wrap my arms around her waist, pushing myself forward and taking us both to the ground. The impact hurts, and I struggle to pull my arms free without letting her up. I straddle her, throwing as many punches to her face and throat as I can.

Her nose and mouth are bloody, and her attacks are more in defense, pulling at my hair and shoving her hands at my face. I’ve won, but no one has yelled to stop. Shouldn’t the fight be stopped now since she’s just trying to limit the damage done and is not dealing any out herself? Wrapping my hands around her throat, I look up to Eric. 

His face is blank, bored almost, but his eyes tell he’s not bored. They’re still cold and sadistic, but almost happy. Then his demeanor changes. Clearly amused, he raises an eyebrow, smirking at the scene I’m currently involved in.

I hadn’t noticed my grip loosening on Elizabeth, and it’s the sudden sharp pain of impact throughout my back that brings me back to reality. Elizabeth is now on top of me, throwing punches at my face. It hurts, and I feel blood beginning to make its way from my nose down my throat, my lip also busting. Raising my arms, I guard my face, desperate to escape the pain.

She turns her attention to my stomach, the impact making me feel like I’m going to throw up. I kick out, trying to push away, kick her off, do anything to make her stop, but she keeps punching, unphased by my feeble attempts. Everything hurts, and if I don’t do something soon I’m going to lose, so I do something cruel, but necessary.

Curling my hand into a fist, making sure to leave my middle finger out a bit further than the rest, I throw a punch, hitting below the sternum but above the abs - the solar plexus. The hit isn’t hard, but enough to make Elizabeth curl into herself, her breathing jagged as she can merely try to cry out. Taking advantage of her pain, I scramble to my feet, giving her face a hard kick. She slumps over, curled into a fetal position. I kick her again, and again and again, taking out my anger on a girl who helped me in a past life, and a girl who represents all the people I despise in this one.

“Sander!”

I look to Four, Eric standing beside him and smirking almost proudly. For the first time, I don’t find his gaze intimidating, and I bask in it.

“That’s enough,” Four says, nodding to Elizabeth.

Nodding, I step back, observing the girl. She’s unconscious, blood oozing from her nose as she lays limply on the wooden floor. I can’t help but smile, elated at the defeat of the girl from Erudite. 

An Erudite transfer walks into the arena, Oliver grudgingly following him. Together, they pick up Elizabeth, carrying her out of the arena. Still smiling, I walk over to Reece, but before I can say anything Eric calls the next two up to fight.

“Reece and Jenny, into the arena.”

“Good luck,” I whisper, giving Reece a quick kiss before he walks into the arena.

Keith walks up beside me, standing silently as we wait for the fight to begin. Reece throws the first punch - a hook to Jenny’s face before throwing an uppercut to her stomach. It looks like it will be a quick fight, or at least as quick as Eric will allow.

“You could’ve killed her,” Keith says, keeping his eyes on the fight. “You know that, right?”

I sigh, watching Reece receive a blow to the face. He doesn’t seem too bothered by it.

“There’s always a risk of death when engaging in a violent scenario,” I repeat the line from one of the books I read several years ago. “No one leaves a fight unscathed.”

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Keith scoffs. “No one would say that. Eric would say that.”

Averting my eyes from the fight - a victory for Reece - I look to Keith. “I just want to get through initiation. Don’t you?”

Keith shakes his head. It’s not a “no,” just disappointment in my answer. As Reece walks over to us, Keith perks up, smiling and congratulating him on his victory. Oliver and the other boy return, the boy having to enter the ring to fight Alexia. It should be a quick fight.

“The nurse said Elizabeth will be fine,” Oliver says, directing his comment at me as a form of reassurance. “She probably has a concussion and a broken nose, but that’s apparently normal around here. Everything else is just bruises and minor cuts.”

“Not that it matters to you,” Keith mutters, crossing his arms.

“What do you mean?” Reece asks, giving Keith a curious look.

“Didn’t you hear?” Keith asks, raising his voice and uncrossing his arms. “Sander doesn’t care about anything except getting past initiation.”

“That’s not what I said,” I yell, stepping forward. “I said I want to get through initiation, that doesn’t mean I don’t care about anything else.”

“Well, you sure as hell didn’t care if Elizabeth was going to be okay,” Keith snaps, stepping forward to meet me. “You wouldn’t have cared if you would’ve killed her. Hell, the way you were smiling, you probably would’ve been very happy.”

“She was my opponent,” I reply. “I beat her, like I was supposed to.”

“No, you beat her that badly because you don’t care about anyone but yourself!” Keith yells, stepping forward, his face in mine.

“Come on, Keith, back off,” Oliver says. “Elizabeth is okay.”

Keith ignores Oliver. “You know, I don’t feel comfortable having you dating my best friend, or should I say fucking. You know, since you don’t care.”

I don’t think about what I’m doing, I just do it. It doesn’t hurt, not much anyways. Releasing my anger, I give in, at least until someone’s hands wrap around my arms, pulling me off of Keith. I release my grip on his throat, freezing as I’m pulled to my feet.

“Stop fighting!” Eric yells, continuing to pull me back.

I look to Reece. He’s not angry, more shocked than anything, but also sad. Fighting Eric, I try to get to him, apologizing. Reece starts to walk towards me, unsure of what to do.

“Stay where you are, initiate!” Eric yells, continuing to pull me backwards.

“I’m sorry!” I yell, watching as Reece turns his attention to Keith. “Reece, I’m sorry!”

Kicking at Eric, I attempt to get away, but he’s unphased by my actions. His grip on my arms hurts, and it seems to tighten the further he drags me back. Moving a hand from my arm, he grips the back of my neck, opening the door with his other hand and shoving me through, releasing me and allowing the door to swing shut behind us.

I stumble forward, looking around the dark hallway, and realizing what I had just done. Spinning around, I lunge towards the door. Eric blocks me, grabbing my arms and pushing me back.

“Keep walking,” he says.

“No,” I reply. “No, I need to talk to Reece.”

Eric walks forward, pushing me back again. “Keep walking.”

“Fuck you, get out of my way,” I say, trying to go around him.

Eric blocks me once again, this time grabbing the back of my neck and spinning me around, pushing me down the dimly lit hallway. The pressure from his grip on my neck is enough to hurt the already formed bruises. I keep my head low, compliant, allowing him to lead me wherever he wishes. Apparently pleased with my response, Eric loosens his grip, rubbing circles with his thumb - a warning to not try anything.

He leads me away from the training room, going towards the Pit. A soft sound starts coming from in front of me, gradually growing louder as we near the end of the hallway - bright light at the end. It’s the water of the Chasm.

“Where are we going?” I ask, hesitating as Eric continues to force me forward.

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies, tightening his grip on my neck.

He is going to kill me. Eric is going to throw me off the iron bridge and into the rushing water and sharp rocks below, but I refuse to let that happen. As the stone turns to iron, I dig my heels into the ground, pushing back against Eric. He shoves me forward, letting go of me and allowing me to stumble onto the iron.

I turn around, swinging my fist and punching Eric in the face, catching him off guard. He curses, grabbing my wrist to stop the next attack, forcing me to use my legs. I knee him in the groin, but he isn’t phased, simply shoving me back. Losing my balance, I stumble to the edge, barely staying on the iron bridge. Eric takes advantage of this, grabbing one of my arms and punching me in the throat, causing one of my feet to slip off the bridge.

I’m about to die. Eric is going to throw me into the water below, but I’m going to make sure he comes with me. The only thing I can do is cough and grab onto his shirt, getting ready to spin as soon as he forces me back, pulling him down with me, but don’t want to die.

I pull my foot up and free my arm, wrapping my arms around his waist and lunging forward, pushing him back into the metal railing. Before he can react, I punch him in the throat, but he grabs my arm and spins me around, twisting it behind my back. I curse, trying to kick him. 

Eric grabs my other arm, turning and throwing both of us onto the metal bridge. Crying out, I gasp for air, the iron digging into my neck. I can see the water rushing below us, the cool liquid splashing onto my face as it runs into the sharp rocks. I can’t tell if I can’t breathe or if I want to throw up, but I don’t like lying here.

“Please,” I whimper, trying to push myself up. “I don’t wanna die.”

“Shut up,” Eric hisses, lifting me partially up only to slam me back down onto the iron bridge.

Scared, with Eric’s weight making it impossible for me to move, I lie there, whimpering. When he releases my arm, I bring my hand up by my neck, laying it on the bridge, but not making a move to get up. Eric rests his head on my back, right below my neck, panting, trying to catch his breath before he makes his next move. I let my head hang, my hair falling out of my face, waiting for something to happen.

“Are you going to cut me?” I ask, whimpering as Eric grabs my waist.

His hands feel like they’re going to burn my skin - my shirt being pulled up to my chest due to our fight. Eric doesn’t reply, simply squeezing my sides and rubbing circles with his thumbs. Knowing Eric, it’s some sort of threat, but it doesn’t feel threatening. Still, I don’t move, silently waiting.

After a few minutes, Eric finally lifts himself off of me, sitting beside me and placing a hand on my back. 

“Initiates fight all the time,” he shrugs. “Happens every year.”

Nodding, I push myself back so my head isn’t hanging off the bridge, staying on my stomach and laying my head on my arms. The water rushing underneath is no longer threatening, but calming; however, Eric’s presence still makes me want to keep my distance. I want him to stop touching me, but he doesn’t, and I know he won’t. It’s about power and control, and unfortunately, I have become the example.

“This is a good place to just...think,” Eric says, running his fingers through my hair. “Especially during the day. Not a lot of people come through here, and if they do they’re too absorbed in themselves to stop and talk.”

“You sure that’s not because you scare the shit out of everyone?” I say, regretting the joke as I feel Eric tense.

He laughs. “With what you did to that girl, you’re probably going to scare people too.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” I snap, lifting myself up, but Eric pushing down on my neck to force me back down. “I didn’t want to hurt her.”

“It was a fight. You were supposed to hurt her,” he says, going back to running his fingers through my hair. “You’re going to have to get used to that.”

“No,” I say, pushing his hand away and lifting myself up. “I don’t.”

“Then you won’t pass initiation,” Eric replies, standing up. “Be back in the training room at one.”

I watch him leave - almost wishing he wasn’t, but also glad he is. Alone with the rushing water, I lie back, letting my feet hang off the bridge.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE, DEATH, AND SEXUAL ASSAULT. IF YOU ARE NTO COMFORTABLE WITH THESE THINGS (minor spoiler) STOP READING WHEN THE SIMULATIONS START.
> 
> -Maxx

Eric’s presence is starting to get on my nerves. He just stands there, stalking from across the room and occasionally yelling at Four to push us harder. It seems like he would have something better to do than just stand and watch us train, never actually intervening, but for the past three days he’s been planted in the same spot for every minute of training. 

He stands in that spot in the mornings too, staring as I train, occasionally yelling for me to keep my hands by my face or to remember my stance, but never approaching me. I start to wonder if maybe he lost his leadership position, and standing in that spot is just to pass the time until he gets reassigned, but that theory was unlikely considering he still sits with the leaders at every meal. The fact that he hasn’t bothered me since he found that spot is almost relieving - not having to deal with the constant harassment - but at the same time it’s unnerving - like he’s planning an attack on a scale I can’t even begin to imagine.

“You’re done for the day” Four yells. “You’re free to go.”

I stop running, looking over to Eric. Frozen in his spot, he looks back, only for a brief moment, before taking a step forward. Lowering my head, I walk over to one of the punching bags, taking my stance and jabbing with my left hand, waiting for the rest of the initiates to leave for dinner. More specifically, waiting for Reece to leave for dinner.

It only takes a few minutes before almost everyone had left, including Four. The only person that remains is Eric, who is standing by the door, arms crossed, that look akin to amusement glinting in his eyes. Giving one last punch, I leave the bag, keeping my head down as I pass Eric. The door delays swinging shut, and the click of boots on stone confirms Eric is behind me. I try to keep my pace steady, my heart feeling as if it could explode any second.

After several twist and turns I’m finally in the dining hall - tables full, but the line short. Unfortunately, short lines also mean fewer options for food and more attention when the room goes silent and the click of boots comes up behind me. The dramatic style of the Dauntless will never get old, but sometimes I wish they would use it to boost the confidence of someone who deserves it, not someone as arrogant as Eric. At least it never lasts long, and in a few seconds, everything is back to normal.

“Looks good,” Eric says. Sarcasm - another trait different from Amity, and a trait that Dauntless seem to have engraved into their DNA.

“If you love it so much, why don’t you take it back to your room to show it just how much you care,” I say flatly. “I’m sure everyone in here would appreciate it.”

“I have an apartment, not a room,” Eric says, putting his hands on my shoulders. “Why don’t I take you there instead?”

It’s a threat - his voice cold, void of emotion. I shake my head.

“Seems boring,” I reply.

“Well, it seems like fun for someone who just broke up with his boyfriend of, what was it, two days?” Eric says, dropping his arms. “Choose your friends wisely, Sander. They might not always like what you become.”

Eric walks around the line, briefly talking to one of the cooks who then hands him a plate - two hamburgers, some potatoes, and a large piece of chocolate cake. Most of his plate consists of food that is no longer available, food that was saved especially for him. Eric walks back down the line, stopping beside me.

“Other initiates aren’t your friends,” Eric says. “They’ll do anything they can to get on top. Remember that.”

I watch him leave, the room not creating that dreadful hush as he exits the dining hall. He’s wrong about the other initiates. Everyone wants to pass initiation, but they won’t do anything. Everyone has their limits.

I’m not sure whether it’s to defy Eric’s warning or just because I haven’t seen them in a couple days, but I decide to sit with Denise and Slavko at dinner. They offer their greetings, giving me a place to sit amongst them and several other Dauntless born, even some Dauntless members.

“You’re the Amity transfer right?” a Dauntless woman asks.

She looks a lot different from Denise - short hair, face covered in piercings, and more muscle than half the guys I’ve seen. In fact, if she hadn’t have talked, I might’ve thought she was a guy, but that doesn’t matter in Dauntless.

“Yeah,” I reply, looking down at my plate. Chicken, corn, and an apple. Probably the blandest thing I’ve had in my entire life.

“Boy, Eric’s got it out for you,” the woman says, leaning back in her chair. “You’re cute though.”

“He’s also ranked first,” Slavko says. “For now anyways.”

The woman nods. “So why Eric wanna put a knife in your throat?” she asks.

“Because someone couldn’t keep their mouth shut!”

It’s Zack, smiling at me. He’s gotten a couple of piercings since I last saw him: one in his nostril and one in his lip.

“Decided to call Eric a prick his first day here!”

“Damn, boy,” the woman says. “You’ve got balls.”

The comment isn’t much, but coming from a Dauntless woman it makes me proud. If someone like her think’s I’m brave, then I must belong here; however, my pride is quickly ruined by a scoff further down the table.

His red hair had been dyed black, but it is definitely Ethan.

“Dauntless leaders should be respected, not mocked,” he says, raising his cup to his lips. “Mocking him just makes you a fool.”

“You’re the fool, Ethan,” Denise says. “All you can do is fight. Your mind is weak, and there’s no way you’ll pass the second stage.”

“I’ll pass,” Ethan replies. “And if I were you, I’d stop worrying about me and worry about yourself. What are you now, twelfth?”

“I still have over a month. I'll make top ten.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he says, turning back to his friends. 

Denise watches him for a few moments, staring at the boy her mother forces her to get along with. Then she scoffs, turning back to us.

“Can you believe him?” she says. “He thinks just because he’s won a couple fights he’s leader material.”

“He wants to be a leader?” I ask.

“Yep,” Denise replies. “Been talking about it for years.”

Nodding, I take a bite of chicken. It’s seasoned well, not too dry, but it's still not the kind of food I like; however, it is the type of food I’ve been eating at lunch and dinner for the past three days, when I eat it anyway. Most of the time I just eat part of it before leaving, and since my tongue is already irritated, that’s what I’m going to do today.

“So Sander,” Zack says. “You doing anything tonight?”

I think, twirling the apple in my hand. It would be nice to see Xavier again, and I do kind of want to talk to him about doing something new, unlike most of the people here.

“Tattoos,” I say. “You want to come?”

“Nah, I’m going zip lining,” he says. “Have fun though. Get something cool.”

I nod, take a bite out of my apple, and leave. The apple is gone by the time I reach the tattoo parlor, and I throw the core into a small trash can. Only a few people are roaming around, most still at dinner, so I’m able to find Xavier quickly. Luckily for me, he’s not tattooing anyone, instead transferring ink into smaller bottles.

“I want a tattoo,” I say.

Xavier turns to me, rolling his eyes and placing a hand on his hip.

“Honey, you’re going to have to be a little more specific than that,” he says. “Go get the one you were looking at.”

“Actually, I was thinking about getting something not already drawn,” I say, shifting back and forth at the way he looks at me.

“You want a custom tattoo?” he asks, more of a rhetorical question than anything. “Do you know how many people here get custom tattoos? Three. Me, Tori, and Eric. They take time, Sander, and time I don’t have most nights.”

“Then I’ll come back later,” I say. “C’mon Xavier. I promise it’s only this one.”

He sighs, closing the bottles of ink and leading me to his station.

“What do you want?” he asks taking out a pencil and a large piece of paper.

“Well, I want a skull up here,” I say, putting my hand on my upper arm. “And the Dauntless symbol close to my elbow and on my forearm knives and guns, and-”

“Wait,” Xavier says. “You want a sleeve?”

“Yeah,” I reply, shifting uneasily once again.

“Honey, I don’t have time for a sleeve tonight,” Xavier says. “I can draw it for you, but I won’t be able to start tattooing it until tomorrow, and it will take multiple sessions.”

“That’s fine,” I say.

Xavier sighs, tapping the pencil on the paper. He looks like he’s deciding if he should agree or not. If he didn’t, I could always ask Tori, but there’s a chance she will say no as well. So I wait, hoping he will agree to do my tattoo.

“What else do you want on it?” he asks.

Delighted at his answer, I begin making swishing motions with my hands to try and show him, adding, “Like, thick streaks and little dots and like,” I make a few more motions. “Yeah.”

“Honey I have no idea what you just did, but you confused me more than anything,” he holds the pencil out for me. “Do a rough sketch and I’ll come up with something later.”

“Okay,” I say, taking the pencil out of his hand and pulling up a chair.

“I’m going to have clients coming in here later, so just be quiet while you work,” he says, standing up and leaving me alone at his station.

I stare at the paper, trying to decide what to do. Drawing was something I did often in Amity - in fact, it was the only thing I enjoyed that was accepted there, even if some of my drawings weren’t. However, since the choosing ceremony, I haven’t drawn anything, and I haven’t drawn anything this style since before the fire. 

The pencil connects with the paper, and I let it flow smoothly, creating the skull. It takes a while to get the outline right, but I eventually do it, moving on to shading the large piece. Every tooth, indents, the small imperfections that I feel need attention gets shaded, some dark and some light until I’m happy with the result.

Then, I move down the paper and begin the Dauntless flames as I hear someone walk in and sit in the leather chair. Ignoring them, I continue my work, creating sharp, bold lines for the flames and circles before shading them in, making the symbol a dark black. Additionally, I add the outline of a splatter to call more attention to the Dauntless flames.

Once again I move down, only not as much this time, and begin drawing the knife and guns. I hear Xavier walk in, and he begins setting up his station, looking at my drawing before excusing himself and once again leaving the station, the client still in the chair. I outline two guns, slightly overlapping, before drawing a knife piercing in between them.

Before I begin filling in the weapons, I outline a splatter that I intend to fill in with red. Whether it’s blood or paint is up to whoever sees it to decide. Then, I begin the roughly filling in the weapons with black, starting with the gun on the left first.

“Is this what you’re trying to do?” Xavier asks, dropping an open book in front of me. 

I hadn’t heard him walk back or close the curtain, but I guess that didn’t matter. The style is exactly the same style I’m trying to draw - the style my mother showed me. Bold lines and images that don’t go together, but somehow look natural beside each other due to geometric designs, paint splatters and streaks, and thick letters that connect them. It’s rough but smooth. Chaotic, but beautiful. And all of it was tattooed onto somebody’s skin.

“It’s called Trash Polka,” Xavier says. “No one here has ever gotten one of these. I doubt they even know what it is.”

“How’d you find this?” I ask.

“Some Erudite were going through some old books a few months ago and found them,” he says, watching me as I flip through and look at all the different designs. “They had no use for them, so they gave them to us.”

“They’re amazing,” I say, looking at the way the chaotic and random streaks and patterns met with the controlled and beautiful realistic pieces.

“I have a basic idea of what you want,” Xavier says. “Come back around eleven and I’ll get a layout of your arm so I can come up with something.”

“He can stay and draw.”

That voice makes me want to run, to hide, to get away from his gaze for one day, but fate hates me, and I turn to see Eric sitting in the chair, shirtless, smirking at me. He rises, walking over and observing my unfinished drawing, picking it apart piece by piece, line by line. 

“You’re good at this,” he says. “Finish it.”

“Xavier already has what he needs,” I say. “There’s no point.”

Eric slams his hand on the table - on my drawing. I flinch, lowering my head, watching myself twist the pencil between my fingers. Part of me wants to punch him, but that never ends up well. Instead, I merely shake my head.

“I can’t,” I say, putting the pencil on the table, looking up at him. “I don’t have any red.”

“Well I’m sure Xavier here can get you some,” Eric says, looking at the tattoo artist.

Xavier nods, setting down two pieces of paper with identical designs on them beside me. He opens a drawer, handing me a red pencil and a pencil sharpener. I thank him, turning back to my drawing, Eric’s hand still in the center.

“Move,” I say, taking hold of Eric’s wrist and picking his hand up before pushing it away, going back to my drawing.

At first, I think he’s going to punch me, the way he tenses, but he doesn’t. He just sits back down in the chair, although I’m sure he’s still watching me. I try my best to ignore him and continue with the details on the left gun, trying to make it as realistic as possible.

“You want the neck ones today, right?” Xavier asks, picking up the pieces of paper from the table.

“Yes,” Eric replies, almost annoyed. “I’m coming back for the others in a few days.”

“Okay,” Xavier says, walking over to him.

Trying my best to ignore Eric’s presence, and the limited conversation he and Xavier are having, I begin to fill in the splatter around the Dauntless flames in with red, adding additional lines and dots where I see fit. Thankfully, it isn’t long before the buzz of the tattoo machine begins, and I’m able to immerse myself in my work.

Red at the splatter on the bottom along with black splatters around the guns and skull gives the piece a more coherent look. Then, I begin the fun stuff - adding different geometric designs to further mesh all the pieces together. I even throw in a cross hair, making the black lines trail off to fill some empty space. I draw two sets of paint streaks - one over the skull in red and once towards the middle in black.

“I’m going to take a small break before I start on the other one,” I hear Xavier say. “I’ll be back in about ten minutes.”

Finishing up the final details on my drawing, I listen to Xavier leave. Finally, the piece is almost done. I add the words “Love and War” before putting down the pencils, looking over my new creation. Some of the lines could be straighter, and the skull and weapons could definitely be improved, but overall I’m happy with the design.

I put the pencils and sharpener back in the drawer Xavier took them out of before standing, holding my hands above my head and stretching. My back is sore from being hunched over the table for at least an hour, and my hand is stiff from drawing that long.

“Hey softie,” Eric says. I should’ve known the silence was too good to last. “Come here.”

“Why?” I ask, putting my arms down and turning to him.

The leather chair had been adjusted so it looked more like a table, but Eric is sitting up, facing me. On one side of his neck was fresh ink - two rows of blocks, side by side, identical. The other side had purple ink marking where the next tattoo will go, and by the looks of it, it will be the same boring design.

“Follow orders, initiate,” Eric says, clearly annoyed. It’s almost amusing. “You don’t need a damn reason.”

I want to fight, to resist, to walk away and go back to the dormitory, but the conversation from a few days ago keeps replaying in my head. “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t cut you for insubordination.” The threat still stands, so instead of leaving I lower my head, slowly walking over to him.

“You’re still ranked first, right?” he asks, tapping his fingers on the leather.

I shrug. Honestly, I haven’t looked at the rankings since my fight with Keith, but according to Slavko, I’m the top initiate. 

“You don’t know your own ranking?” Eric asks.

“I’ve heard I’m first,” I reply. “Why?”

He ignores my question. “What jobs are you considering?”

Once again, I shrug. I hadn’t really thought about it, and since everything moves so fast around here, I don’t really have time to. I just fight and train, and I avoid Reece to the best of my ability. The only time I have time to think is when I’m getting a tattoo, and even then I don’t think about jobs.

“I don’t really care what I get,” I say, crossing my arms. “There’s no reason to think about it now.”

“You’re ranked first. You should be thinking about these things,” Eric says, reaching out and once again lifting up the sleeve to my shirt. He presses down on the design tattooed into my skin, but it doesn’t hurt as much as last time. In fact, it doesn’t hurt at all. 

“You could get leadership,” he says, tensing at his own words. “If you stay ranked first, that is.”

“I don’t want leadership,” I reply, watching as he seems to relax. “I just want a normal job.”

“You want to guard the fence all day?” Eric teases. “Be surrounded by a bunch of idiots who don’t know what they’re doing?”

I shrug. “Not really.”

“What about a janitor?” he starts to smile. “I bet you’d love cleaning the toilets.”

“Fuck no,” I say, letting my arms drop down to my sides. “I was thinking nurse or something.”

“I thought you weren’t thinking about it.”

To be fair I hadn’t been thinking about jobs that much. Just a few have crossed my mind - nurse, cook, tattoo artist - but it doesn’t really matter what I get. Well, as long as I don’t end up scrubbing toilets or pacing with a gun on my shoulder all day.

“You know to get the good jobs you need to stay in the top five,” Eric says, tracing his fingers down my arm. “I can help you train.”

I pull my arm back, taking a step away and looking at him. It has to be some kind of trick, his eyes still holding sadism along with that look akin to amusement, but he doesn’t look angry. If anything, he looks bored. At least, I think it’s boredom.

“How?” I ask, stepping forward again.

Eric goes back to rubbing my arm where the tattoo is. “Not everything is physical. I can help you face and overcome your worst fears.”

“What are you going to do, throw me into the chasm?” I ask, smiling.

“Is that your worst fear?” he jokes. “Because I can do that.”

Once again I pull my arm away, taking a step back as I fold my arms over my chest. If he’s going to simulate my worst fears, then I don’t want the help. I can’t do it again, and I don’t even want to think about what’s happening to Dylan right now.

“Sander.” I look up from the floor, looking towards Eric. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, forcing my arms to go back to my sides and stepping closer to the chair. 

“Do you want help?” he asks, tracing his fingers along my forearm.

It’s almost calming - almost. I’m still not convinced that he’s not carrying out some elaborate plot to murder me and make it look like a suicide, and I don’t really need help right now, but the mental aspect of initiation might be a lot harder than the physical part. What’s the worst that could happen?

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Yeah, I do.”

“Good,” he says. “We’ll start after I get this shit done.”

“Okay,” I mutter.

I hear the curtain get pulled closed, and I start to pull my arm away, but Eric grabs onto it.

“Get him a chair,” Eric says.

Xavier sighs, walking over and dragging a chair a few feet so I can sit in it. Thanking him, I sit down, keeping my head low. Xavier walks to the other side of Eric, setting up his station once again. He does it quickly, as if he does it without thinking, just from habit. Although considering this is his job, it probably is a habit.

Eric lies back down on the table, letting go of my arm. Leaning his head back, he waits for Xavier to start. Within minutes, and without a word, Xavier connects the needle to Eric’s skin, and, surprisingly, the Dauntless leader doesn’t even blink.

Propping my arm on the table, and my head on my hand, I yawn. My body is tired, but my mind is active - too active. I can’t decide which thought to focus on. Initiation? Reece? Dylan? Eric? I don’t know which is more important; however, I do want to know what Eric is going to put me through to train me for the second stage of initiation. The buzzing of the tattoo machine is making me want to sleep.

“Sander.”

I groan, hiding my face in my arms and whatever my head is currently laying on. The light is too bright, and I want it to go away. Light touches rubbing circles on my neck want me to stay where I currently am even more and go back to sleep. In fact, I can feel myself drifting off once again.

“Get up.”

Two pats on the back and a light shove motivates me to look up - to see where I am. It’s not the dormitory, but the tattoo parlor. I’m not lying in a bad, but sitting in a chair, my head resting on Eric’s stomach.

“Fuck!” I yell, jumping up and tripping over the chair, causing it to fall over and almost drag me to the floor as well.

“Calm down, sleepyhead,” Xavier says, walking over to me ass Eric sits up. “I still need to get a layout of your arm.”

I look to Eric. He looks bored, just staring at me - probably waiting for me to get done in here so he can “train” me. Looking back at Xavier, I nod.

“Okay, relax your arm,” Xavier says, opening a purple marker. 

Nodding, I let my arm hang loosely to my side. Xavier starts making lines along my arms - along every muscle and bone, twist and indention. It only takes him a few minutes, but then he takes a large piece of thin, semi-transparent plastic and begins sticking it to my arm, rubbing over the lines he made with the marker. Once the plastic is completely wrapped around my arm, he slowly starts to peel it away, the pulling of the hair on my arms making me flinch. After my arm is free from the plastic, he holds it up.

“Okay, that’s it,” he says. “Come back in a couple days to see if you like what I come up with, and then I’ll tattoo you.”

“Okay,” I reply, stepping back and waiting for Eric.

Slowly, he stands up, stretching his arms over his head before putting his shirt and vest back on. I stand quietly, looking at the floor, until he walks over, placing a hand on my lower back and guiding me out of the tattoo parlor, his pace quick, almost as if he was avoiding someone.

The pit is busier than before - people roaming around, yelling, going into stores. Most of them travel in packs, but some are alone or in pairs. Eric doesn’t talk to, or even look at, any of them - but I do. Standing together in one of the walkways is Reece, Oliver and Keith beside him, but that’s not what catches my attention. What does catch my attention, however, is the girl standing beside Reece, laughing, her arm around his waist. It’s the same girl who was trying to flirt with him earlier, the girl who trained with him the first day, an Erudite transfer. I think her name is Susanne.

Clenching my hands into fists, I stare straight ahead, forcing myself not to punch anyone or anything. It’s only been three days and Reece is already fucking someone else. Even worse, he’s fucking a chick. Instead of talking to me and working things out, he moved on. He had three days of training, being in the dormitory, and meals to find me and talk things out, but I guess he didn’t want to. Obviously, he didn’t want to. I don’t understand - I didn’t hit him. I hit Keith, and only because he wouldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“I’m not going to throw you into the Chasm,” Eric says, chuckling and pulling me closer to him. “I was just joking about that.”

“I know,” I reply, failing to keep the anger out of my voice.

I want to hurt someone, something, anything. I want to make that Erudite bitch back off, and I want to punch Keith until he is no longer conscious. It’s his fault Keith isn’t talking to me - he’s the one that did this.

“Good,” Eric says, the amusement in his voice replaced by a sudden sternness.

Lowering my head, I stay silent as Eric leads me down several twists and turns until finally, we’re alone in a dark hallway. I try to make myself relax, to get rid of the anger still building up inside of me, but I can’t. If anything, I’m making it worse.

Eric stops at the end of the hallway, taking a set of keys from his pocket and unlocking the door. He turns on the lights to reveal an almost empty room - the only object in it being a metal chair similar to the one from the aptitude test and a desk with a computer on it.

“A simulation?” I ask, walking forward, my anger being replaced by nervousness. If it’s anything like the simulation, I’m going to hate it.

“It’s what you’re going to be doing in the second stage,” he says, closing the door. “I thought you should practice. Now sit.”

I do as he says, sitting in the metal chair. Eric walks over to the desk, pulling out a syringe and filling it up with a transparent orange liquid. Then, he walks back over to me, making me lean back.

“You’ll stay in the simulation until you calm down. It doesn’t matter how, but once you do you’ll come back to reality. I’ll be able to see what’s happening inside your head on the computer screen. Once you’re out of the hallucination, I’ll inject you again until you’ve gone through all your fears,” Eric says before pushing my head away from him, exposing my neck. “It’s going to be hard, but you’ll live.”

I feel a sharp pinch, and Eric injects the serum into my neck. Once the needle is out, I look at him. He looks bored.

I close my eyes.

When I open them again I’m in a dark room. I can’t see anything, but I’m standing on something hard. I squat down, touching the ground. It’s cold - most likely stone. I’m somewhere in the Dauntless compound, but where?

“Sander.”

I spin around, rising to my feet in the process.

“Who’s there?”

The voice doesn’t answer, at least not that I can hear. It was so quiet the first time, almost like a timid child.

“Alexander.”

It comes from behind me this time. I spin around, holding my hands out in front of me, taking a step forward before deciding it’s probably better if I stay put.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“Help me.”

I can’t tell where it’s coming from this time, so I take a step back, looking around in the darkness.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“Sander.”

“Alexander.”

There are two voices this time, coming from different direction. I try to figure out who they are, and where they are, but I can’t. I can only spin around, reaching out into the darkness.

“How do you know my name?” I ask.

I begin to hear more whispers, incoherent, surrounding me. My heart races in my chest as they begin to grow louder, like how someone would normally talk, but still incoherent. There’s too many of them. Next, they’re talking louder, and louder, and louder, until, finally, they’re screaming.

Some of the voices are higher than the others. The screams are deafening. I cover my ears, dropping to my knees, trying to get away, but they won’t stop. I don’t know what they want, and other than catching my name every now and then, I don’t know what they’re saying.

“Stop!” I yell. “Please, just stop!”

But they don’t, and I know they won’t. I remember what Eric told me - to calm down - but what good will calming down do? Although, maybe it could make the screaming more bearable if I’m not about to cry, and the people don’t seem like they’re going to hurt me. I’m sure they would have already if they were going to, so I lie down on the floor, putting my hands over my face, trying to steady my breathing. It takes a few minutes, but finally, I’m calm, and the voices grow quieter until finally they’re gone.

When I open my eyes I’m back in the room with Eric. He’s standing over me, another syringe in his hand, filled with the same orange liquid. The needle is smaller than the one before.

“You okay?” he asks, not really looking concerned, just bored.

“Yeah,” I reply, shifting in the chair.

“Good,” he says, sticking the needle in my arm and once again injecting me with the liquid.

I close my eyes, opening them to see I’m sitting on a narrow bridge. Looking around, I can see the city - it’s beautiful. Well, as beautiful as a post-war city can get. I almost want to stay, but the wind makes me feel like I’m going to fall off. I throw a leg over the bridge, slowly pushing myself up, the wind almost making me lose my balance. 

Once I get my feet on the walkway, I realize it’s too narrow for them to be placed side by side, and I begin to feel my chest tighten. I can’t breathe. I want off. There’s an opening to a building in front of me, but I can’t get there. I can’t stand up. The bridge is too narrow. There are no railings.

I try to pull myself forward, and to my surprise, it works. I pull myself again, moving only a few inches at a time, but it keeps me from falling to my death. I keep pulling myself until I can touch the building, and finally, I can breathe, at least for a few seconds.

Putting one hand on the building and one on the bridge, I slowly lift myself up, trying to keep my balance against the wind. My foot slips, and I push myself forward with the other, landing inside the building. Laughing, I roll over onto my back, my breathing returning to normal. I survived.

“Damn,” Eric says as I open my eyes once again. “I was almost hoping you would fall.”

“Fuck you,” I reply, sitting up in the chair.

“Careful, Sander,” Eric says, pushing me back down. “I’m helping you, remember?”

Another pinch in my arm and I have to close my eyes.

I’m in the training room, standing alone like I have been for the past three days. Eric is in his spot, staring at the arena. Four steps forward, looking at the board before looking to me, then someone else. He’s looking at Reece’s group, but not at Reece. He’s looking at the girl.

“Sander and Susanne,” Four yells, stepping back. “In the arena.”

I quickly walk into the circle, waiting for Susanne. She kisses Reece, and he doesn’t object. In fact, it seems like he’s enjoying it. After a few seconds, she pulls away, smiling and winking at him as she walks into the ring.

Her smile - it pisses me off. The fact that she has tanned skin and dark hair pisses me off too. At least Reece has a type. She’s not a bad fighter either - she already beat Keith. Still, I have beaten Elizabeth, and my side doesn’t hurt anymore. I’m going to wipe that happy little smile off her goddamn face once and for all.

“Fight!” Eric yells, finally stepping away from his precious spot.

I run forward, catching her off guard and throwing her to the ground. This will be a quick fight. Straddling her waist, I give a quick punch to her solar plexus, making sure to leave my middle finger sticking out a bit further than the rest. She gasps for air, so I punch her again, in the same place, before punching her in the throat. I punch her in the face before standing up, giving her a chance so Four won’t end the fight too early.

“Come on you little bitch,” I say, laughing as I circle around her. I’m not happy, just angry, but it feels good to laugh. It feels good to laugh at her. “Get up and fight!”

It takes her a moment to catch her breath, but she finally gets up, slowly, hunched over, and holding out her hands. I step forward, kneeing her in the stomach. She cries out - it’s more of a squeak really - so I step back.

“Please,” she begs. “Please, stop.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” I say, grabbing her hair. “It’s too late for that.

“Sander!”

I stop, looking over to see Reece walking into the Arena. He’s not angry, just sad. I push Susanne away, walking over to him, smiling, but he doesn’t smile back.

“Sander, you don’t have to do this,” he says, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Please, don’t. For me.”

“Why?” I ask, my smile falling as he moves his hands back down at his side. He’s nervous, looking at the ground for a few seconds before looking back up at me.

“Because I love her.”

Before I can react, I’m thrown to the ground. Susanne is on top of me, hitting my neck, trying to get at my throat. My head fills with rage, and I flip myself over, elbowing her in the face until she decides to let go of my neck. Then, I stand up, kicking her in the stomach before she can do the same.

“Fuck you!” I yell, kicking her in the face. “You should’ve stayed in Erudite you stupid bitch!”

I kneel down, pushing her onto her stomach and placing a knee on her back before grabbing a fist full of her hair, bashing her head into the ground. Again, and again, and again, I bash her head into the wooden floor. It isn’t long before blood starts to spill from her nose and mouth, but I don’t stop. I keep bashing her head in.

“Sander!”

I ignore whoever is calling my name, continuing to bash her head onto the ground. I feel something wet on my left knee, and I look back to see she has pissed herself. She fucking pissed on me.

“You stupid bitch!” I yell, continuing to bash her head.

I feel someone grab my arms, pulling me off of her. Trying to get away, I kick them, but they throw me to the ground, putting their forearm against my neck. It’s Eric.

“You won, Sander!” he yells, listing his arm from my neck, but keeping a hand on my shoulder. “Look!”

I look over to Susanne. A pool of blood surrounds her head, and a pool of piss surrounds the rest of her. Her once pristine face is now bloody and disfigured. She’s not breathing.

“No,” I whisper, barely able to get the word out as I push Eric off of me. 

I jump up, running over to her, shaking her, trying anything to get her to just wake up - to just breathe - but she doesn’t. I look up to Reece. He’s not even angry. He’s crying, sitting on the floor, unable to move. I get up and walk over to him, sitting down in front of him.

“Reece, I- I didn’t mean to,” I say, tears starting to fall down my own face. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean to, Reece. I’m sorry.”

“Get out,” Reece says through gritted teeth. “Just get out.”

“Reece, I-”

“I said get out!” he yells.

So I do. I run. I run out of the training room, collapsing onto the ground as soon as I hear the doors close. I vomit, the foul liquid splashing onto the stone floor - onto my hands. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I just keep crying. I killed her. I killed Susanne. I killed a girl whose name I barely even know. I killed her.

I lie there, closing my eyes. It takes hours before I can properly breathe again, and even longer before I can stop crying.

I sit up in the metal chair, tears streaming down my face. I’m not in the hallway anymore.

“I can’t,” I say, standing up. Eric is sitting at the desk, still looking bored. “I can’t do it anymore.”

“You have to get over your fears,” he says, standing up and walking towards me. “It wasn’t real. You didn’t kill anyone.”

“I know, I just, I,” I put my hands over my face. Whether it’s because I’m stressed or to hide my tears I’m not sure. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Eric sighs, stepping forward and slowly wrapping his arms around me, hugging me as if he’s unsure of what to do. It isn’t until now that I realize we’re almost the same height, although I think he might be a little taller, and he definitely has more muscle. I lay my head on his shoulder, wrapping my arms around him, steadying my breathing as he slowly rubs my back.

I know the worst hasn’t happened yet. I don’t know when it will show up, but I know it will. Going through that again is something I don’t know if I can handle.

“It was hours,” I say, holding onto him tighter. “It wouldn’t end.”

“You weren’t in there for hours,” Eric whispers, reaching up to run his fingers through my hair. “You were in there for twenty minutes.”

“It felt so real,” I say, closing my eyes for a few seconds before opening them, afraid that when I do I’ll be back in the hallway outside the training room. I’m not.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know.”

We stay like that for a few minutes until the tears finally stop falling. I slowly pull away from him, keeping my head low to avoid eye contact. He drops his hands to my waist before letting go, not moving back any.

“Can you do anymore?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say, walking over to the metal chair and sitting down. “Yeah, I can.”

“Okay,” is all he says before walking over to the desk and picking up the syringe. He walks over to me, putting the needle in my arm. “Just try to calm down.”

I’m standing in the hallway. Which hallway, I’m not sure, but it’s dark and empty. Well, almost empty. Eric is walking towards me, a large knife in his hand. I step back as he approaches me, wondering what kind of sick game he is playing.

“Why are you so nervous, softie?” he teases, grabbing my wrist and placing the knife in my hand. He unlocks the door I’m standing in front of. “You know what to do.”

I push the door open. Inside, hanging in the center of the room with his arms above his head, is a boy. He’s young, probably only thirteen or fourteen. Large gashes and bruises cover his entire body, and he looks like he hasn’t eaten in awhile.

“I don’t understand,” I say turning to Eric. “What did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do anything to him,” he replies, looking amused. “You did, and you’re going to keep, let’s call it pressing him for information until he tells me what I want to hear.”

“No,” I say, stepping back. “No, I- I can’t.”

“You wanted respect, Sander,” Eric says, stepping forward, cornering me. “So I gave it to you. You do this, and people do what you say. They fear you, and all you have to do is throw a few punches and cut with your little knife. Now get in there and do your job.”

“No,” I say.

“It wasn’t a fucking suggestion,” he replies, raising his voice. “Go, now.”

I look down at the knife in my hand. It’s sharp but stained with blood - blood that I caused to be let out. I can’t hurt the boy.

“No,” I say.

Eric’s fist connects with my face, sending me back into the wall. I whimper, dropping the knife and holding my hands up to protect my face, submitting.

“Go,” he says, stepping back. “If you don’t, I’ll have to kill you.”

“Okay,” I say, slowly reaching down to pick up the knife. “I’ll do it.”

I don’t hear what he says after, or if he even says anything, I just walk into the room - walk over to the boy. He looks dead, but his breathing tells me otherwise, so I slap him lightly, waking him from his uncomfortable slumber.

“Please just tell him what he wants,” I say. “He’ll let you go if you do.”

The boy spits in my face. I pull my arm back, punching him. Then, I bring my knife up to his neck, pressing against the skin over the carotid artery. He tenses, terrified.

“Tell him, or I’m going to kill you,” I say, hoping he breaks. “I’m tired of wasting my damn time on your ass.”

“It’s Damion,” he says, trembling. “Damion is Divergent, and so am I.”

I look to Eric, waiting for his response.

“Kill him.”

Closing my eyes, I drop the knife, unable to follow through with my orders. I don’t look at Reece but simply walk out of the room. Eric doesn't try to stop me, just watching as I sit down in the hallway, my head in my hands, focusing on keeping my breathing steady.

I hear a gunshot.

I sit up in the metal chair, my breathing quick and heavy. Eric is standing beside me, his hand on my chest. Sighing, I sit back in the chair, holding my arm out for him. The pinch soon comes, and I close my eyes, waiting for whatever nightmare comes next.

The entire room is white. The floors, the chairs, the desks, even the computers are all white. No one is in the room except me, and by the looks of it, the lights will soon be shut off. It’s dark outside, and I wander around, looking at the screens on the computers. One of them shows the time - 11:54 P.M. I’m about to be stuck alone in a dark room.

Frantically, I look around. The door is glass. Cautiously, I walk up to it. There’s an intercom to the right of it - a small red button under a speaker. The door doesn’t have any handles, so I try to push it open. It doesn’t move.

I press the button on the intercom. It beeps, and I say, “Hello?”

There’s no reply.

“Is anyone there?” I ask.

Still, nothing.

I hit the door with an open palm, trying to see how thick the glass is. It doesn't seem too thick, so I punch it, immediately regretting my actions, my hand feeling at best very bruised. In reality, it’s probably broken. I kick the door, but still, it doesn’t budge.

The lights go out. Swearing, I spin around. Then, I wander around the room, my hands held out in front of me, looking for something to break the glass with. The computers turned off when the lights did, so the room is pitch black. Thus, I walk slowly, keeping along the edge of the table. 

I step on something. Picking it up, I run my hands over it. It’s hard and cool. Also, it’s in the shape of an “L”, a round piece in the bend. A gun. I have a gun.

Quickly, frantically, I make my way over to the door, knocking down a few chairs, and possibly a few computers, in the process. It only takes seconds before my hands come in contact with the glass door. Taking a few steps back, I aim the gun.

I shoot into the darkness.

“Forty seconds,” Eric says, walking over to me. “You’re getting good at this.”

“They’re getting easier,” I say, watching as he puts the needle in my arm.

“They won’t be soon,” he says. “Remember to calm down.”

Eric is right - they didn’t get easier. In fact, they got harder. First, it is being unable to speak. My mouth vanishes - replaced by a flat piece of skin. The way everyone looks at me with this pitiful, sympathetic stare is the worst part of it all. Next is a horrific rash: consisting of large sores, small bumps, and bulging blisters. It doesn’t take long before I slip into insanity, clawing at my skin with the hope that somehow I can get away from the terrible pain. The simulation afterward is similar, dealing with my skin, but in a way, it’s worse. Bugs crawl under my skin. Some are small, others are large, but I can clearly see each and every one of them, looking for an escape and covering every inch of me. At one point a spider crawls out of my mouth, but that isn’t the worst of it. Then, with the next injection, comes being bound in thick rope from the base of my neck to the tips of my toes. It’s loose at first, but I am still unable to get it off; however, two large motors soon begin to tighten the rope until it becomes so tight I cannot breathe. That’s when I pass out, and simultaneously wake up. Finally, there’s one that breaks me, one that makes me stop accepting the injections: death. There’s no escape from it, and twisted creatures with rotting flesh and protruding bones surround me, forcing me to succumb to their world. According to Eric, it took me ten minutes to escape that one, but it felt like hours.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I say, pulling at my hair as I pace in circles around the room.

Eric watches me, bored, leaning back in the chair with his feet propped up on the desk. I already tried running out of the room, escaping the torment, but Eric had been a step ahead and had locked the door while I was in the simulation. Thus, I’m trapped in the almost empty room, waiting for Eric to either give up and release me or force me back into another simulation.

“Why won’t you listen to me you fucking prick!” I scream, slamming my hands on the desk. “I can’t do this anymore.”

He doesn’t respond. I place my hands on his shoulders and push him back, trying to get him to do anything but stare at me with the same bored look. His feet fall off the desk, but he still doesn't respond. I punch him. His head snaps to the side, but he doesn’t fight back, just goes back to staring at me, bored.

“Answer me!” I scream, slamming my hands down on his shoulders. I can’t take it anymore, and I lie my head on his shoulder, sobbing. “Please.”

Eric wraps an arm around my waist. “Just one more, okay? If you do one more, I’ll let you go for the night.”

I nod, wiping the tears from my face and standing up straight. “Okay. Okay, one more.”

Lowering my head, I walk to the metal chair, sitting in it once again and leaning back. Eric follows me, taking my arm and pushing the needle into my skin. A small pinch and the serum is once again injected.

I close my eyes.

The cool breeze dances through the massive fields of wheat. Storm - a massive, grey horse of only about five years - canters through the field, carrying me on his back. My mom will be angry at me for riding through the fields right before harvest, possibly damaging some of the crops. Well, not angry, she never gets angry, more disappointed than anything, but I can never resist riding Storm through the fields.

Storm is my first horse. He’s not the first horse I’ve ridden or the first horse I’ve trained, but he’s the first horse that is truly mine. A beautiful, grey Percheron mix with a coat the color of snow; however, he did have the defining characteristics of a grey with some of his coat turning truly grey around his hooves, nose, and eyes.

Raised by his mother and the small herd we kept them in, Storm definitely has manners, but he was untrusting of other people for the few months of his life, and while seeing his mother and the rest of their herd trust us, he didn’t truly trust humans until he was around three - when I started working with him every day. Still, I didn’t begin riding him until he was four, and even now I only ride him once a week.

The feeling of riding a horse is something I have become addicted to. Riding a horse is freedom, being able to go further than any other person in Amity, even if that freedom is merely borrowed for a short time. It feels like flying, with the smell of leather mixing with the sweet, earthy scent that can only be described as that of a horse filling my lungs, making my head spin with bliss. This is the one thing that I can do and truly be free here at Amity - where I don’t have to worry about peace serum, when refusing to follow Amity’s manifesto no longer crosses my mind, and where I am not looked upon as a nuisance but instead an asset.

Today is truly a beautiful day to ride. The sky is a beautiful blue, a small white cloud finally moving from in front of the sun, and the fall weather is just perfect for making sure the ride isn’t too hot for Storm nor too cold for me. It’s quiet too - allowing me to hear the melodic rhythm of Storm’s hooves against the soft dirt, yet at the same time, I can faintly hear the songs of the birds flying above.

A large, dark colored mass rushes past us, and I barely catch it out of the corner of my eye. Pulling back on the reins, leaning back a bit in the saddle, I get Storm to stop and turn. It’s Blueberry - one of the horses we use to gather and move the cattle, sheep, and occasionally other horses. He’s supposed to be in his stall, waiting for my dad to trim his hooves, not running loose in a wheat field.

The smell of burning wood fills the air. Pulling at Storm’s reins once again, I turn him back towards to the barn, watching as a thin stream of grey smoke begins to form in the sky. It’s above the barn. My parents are in there.

“Go!” I yell, giving Storm a squeeze. “Go! Run! Now!”

Storm lunges forward, galloping towards the barn. Still, I urge him to go faster, trying my best to hold back the tears threatening to fall. My heart races in my chest, and I feel every muscle in my body tightening with every second that passes. I feel like can’t breathe, like the air constantly moving through my lungs isn’t working.

It takes me about five minutes to get to the barn, and by then the stream of smoke has grown into a massive black cloud. Flames engulf the entire barn, and a few large pieces of wood blocks the doors, making it impossible for anyone to escape. I can hear the horses shrieking, kicking at the walls. It’s a horrid sound - one of an animal so helpless, surrounded by a certain death, that all he can do is scream.

“Mama!” I scream, having to turn Storm in a circle to keep him from bolting away from the fire. Papi!”

“Go get help!”

It’s Mama, pain evident in her voice. 

“Alex, please, go get help!”

I turn Storm towards the cafeteria, urging him into a gallop. The smoke behind me makes my head spin, and I can’t think about anything except getting to the cafeteria. Even breathing is difficult, every breath coming out as a jagged pant. Even the feeling of flying I typically get when riding Storm has vanished, replaced by an emptiness guarded by panic.

Strange looks and murmurs surround me when I finally get to the cafeteria, the openness of which allows me to ride Storm between the tables, praying he doesn’t kick any of them nor the people sitting there. Johanna storms over to me, my brother Dax by her side.

“Alex, what do you think you’re doing?” Dax yells, grabbing Storm’s reins.

“The barn’s on fire!” I yell, pulling at the reins, getting Storm to back up. “Mama and Papi are trapped.”

It’s the first time I hear Dax swear, but he does, muttering, “Shit,” before turning to the rest of the population.

“Everyone go get buckets of water!” Dax yells. “I need some men to come with me to try to break into the barn!”

I turn Storm back towards the barn, giving him a hard kick to get him to break into a gallop as fast as possible. The smoke is still growing, completely engulfing the barn by the time I reach it, but Mama and Papi are still screaming. They’re still alive.

“Mama!” I scream, jumping off of Storm and running towards the barn. “Papi! Help is coming, just hang on!”

Everything is on fire, and there’s nowhere to touch that won’t produce burns. Still, I wrap my arms around one of the beams, digging into every ounce of strength to move it out of the way, but it doesn’t budge. There’s a small opening between the beams, sealed with fire, but still one I can fit through. I step onto the lowest beam, pushing myself through the opening.

“Alex, stop!” Dax pulls me back, away from the barn.

“No!” I scream, watching as another burst of fire engulfs the barn. 

I claw at Dax’s arms, hitting his face, screaming, kicking, doing anything to get away from him so I can save Mama and Papi. The top of the barn collapses.

“Mama!” I scream, watching as a mass of our population rushes forward, buckets of water in hand. “Papi!”

Another burst of fire and I can feel Dax crying, still holding onto me, preventing me from rushing in to save them. I can’t hear their screams anymore, only the sound of fire and the yells of most of our population. Putting my head down, I stop fighting, giving up.

I couldn’t save them.

I jerk up in the chair, Eric’s hand hitting my chest. Everything feels too tight, the air is too dense, preventing it from filling my lungs. My heart races as I look around the nearly empty room that suddenly seems so wrong.

“I have to go back,” I cry, gripping onto Eric’s vest. He still looks bored. “Please, let me go back. I have to save them!”

Eric pulls his vest out of my hand. 

“It’s not real. None of it was real. It was a simulation.”

“It was real!” I yell, grabbing onto his vest again. “It was real! You have to send me back! I have to save them!”

“It wasn’t real.”

“It was real! I-I couldn’t save them.” I let go of Eric’s vest, lowering my head. “It’s my fault they’re dead.”

Eric doesn’t push me away this time, but instead wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. I wrap my arms around his waist, laying my head on his chest, closing my eyes as I hold onto his vest, sobbing, shaking, wanting to go back and save them.

Soft humming comes from him, smooth, soothing, but then I realize he isn’t humming, but instead singing. It sounds like a different language, like one from before the war. It’s haunting, yet calming, and somehow it fits him. It matches his voice, or perhaps his voice matches it.

I close my eyes and push my head against him as if trying to hide from the screams of my parents, feeling the way his chest moves with each word. Eric twists my hair between his fingers, and he holds me tightly against him with his other hand. Slowly, I stop crying. Moving my hands to Eric’s sides, I pull away from him, looking down and listening as he continues to softly sing. Finally, he stops and pushes me back in the metal chair.

“I’ll let you back into the simulation, but I decide when you stop,” Eric says, pushing my hands off his waist and walking over to the desk. “Do you understand?”

The thought of Eric being able to control when I escape torment, to decide where my breaking point is, is absolutely terrifying; however, I need to have some sort of closure. I need to save my parents, even if it is only in a simulation.

“Yes,” I say, holding out my arm, waiting for the needle.

Eric nods, once again filling the syringe with the tinted orange liquid. Then, he walks over to me, putting the needle into my skin and pushing down on the syringe. Right before I close my eyes I swear I see him smile, but it’s probably just my imagination - the fear already building up before I am thrown into another lifelike nightmare.

I sit up in the metal chair, gripping my own arm tightly in my right hand. It tingles, feeling almost painful. Looking around, at the multitude of mirrors in the brightly lit room, I realize why my arm is tingling. I had landed on it, hard, probably snapping it in two as I knelt down in front of the dog. I should’ve chosen the knife, but I didn’t, and instead, I merely traced my fingers over something much different from the knives in Amity.

“Congratulations,” the Abnegation woman says, taking the electrodes off of my head. “You’re Amity.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head and standing up. “How is that possible?”

“You had an automatic repulsion from the knife, and then you chose the cheese,” the woman replies, removing the electrodes from her own head. “Then, when put into a situation where someone was insulting you, you remained passive, even going as far as to thank them.”

“No,” I say, backing away from her. “No, that’s not right. I didn’t touch the cheese, I touched the knife! You’re wrong!”

The door to the room opens, and man wearing bright red and yellow clothing walks in, Jessie and Dax following closely behind. Dax starts walking towards me, so I run - circling the chair, pushing the Abnegation woman towards Dax as he chases me, giving him no other option but to catch her.

Jessie circles the other way, reaching out to grab my arm. Her touch repels me, and I immediately back away - into the wall of mirrors. She steps forward again, wrapping her arms around one of mine as Dax holds the other, pushing my shoulder to keep me pinned in place. The Amity man, I’m unsure of his name, puts a syringe in my arm - in a vein - and within seconds the Peace Serum begins to take effect.

“We’re going to have so much fun!” Jessie whispers, trailing her fingers down my back. “I get to keep you.”

Closing my eyes, I let Jessie and Dax lead me out of the mirror covered room. I’m forced to lean on them for support, the green serum making my head spin, unable to balance on my own. Green - it’s supposed to be a calming color. I suppose it is to most of Amity, but not to me. They gave me too much of the green liquid, the peace serum that is. They always give me too much.

Eric has his arm across my neck, pinning me to the metal chair. I don’t even have time to cry before he’s raising the syringe, trying position the needle to push into my arm. I know what’s next - it has to be next. Jessie hasn’t appeared in the simulations until now, and I don’t want her to appear again, even though I know she will. I can’t go through that again, so I kick Eric in the groin.

“You stupid little bitch,” he hisses, dropping the syringe.

Wasting no time returning the attack, he elbows me in jaw and climbs onto the chair, straddling one of my legs. I put my hands in his face trying to push him off, but most of all trying to keep him from seeing where the syringe went. Still, his hand snakes around and wraps around my neck. While kneeing him, I attempt to hit him in the throat, but he seems to predict my actions, pushing my arm down and punching me in the face. Then, he does it again. And again.

With a whimper, I put one hand in his face and grab onto his vest with the other, trying to get him to stop. Eric punches me one more time before he puts his arm over my neck, pinning me down. He moves his knee to my groin, putting just enough pressure to be painful before giving me release.

“Please,” I say, the tears finally starting. “Please, I don’t want to.”

Eric ignores me, scanning the floor for the syringe. I start to pull at his arm, but more pressure on my groin persuades me not to. Instead, I just hold onto Eric’s vest and spread my legs, trying to get some relief from the unwanted, and painful, pressure. It doesn’t work, with Eric leaning down to pick up the syringe. I cry out at the pressure, pushing at Eric’s knee, but to no avail. Thankfully, he soon lifts himself back up, releasing the pressure, but with the syringe in hand.

“No!” I scream, trying to somehow get out from under him. He looks angry, bringing the syringe up to my neck. “Please, no. I don’t wanna go back there please no.”

“Shut up!” Eric yells, elbowing me once again. “You agreed to this. Stop being such a little bitch about it.”

“I changed my mind!” I try to pry his arm off my neck, doing my best to ignore the increasing pressure he’s putting on my groin. “I don’t want to do this! Eric, please, I don’t want to!”

Eric shoves the needle in my neck.

“Eric, please!”

He injects me with the orange serum.

“Please, no,” I whimper, closing my eyes.

I lie on my bed, reading a book on warriors and weapons from long before the war. My bed is soft, comfortable, a large mattress covered in a thick duvet. I’m forced to share bed with Dylan, but I don’t mind. He typically sleeps near the edge anyway, and he’s out playing with his friends most of the time.

There’s another bed in the room, pressed up against the wall and also covered in a thick duvet. It’s smaller than my bed, but the only person who sleeps in it is Dax. Well, at night anyway. At the moment, Dylan is curled up under the thick duvet, slightly ill. I agreed to take a day off of working with the horses to watch him. Storm needs a day off anyway.

So, instead of a physically demanding day out in the sun, I have a mentally demanding day indoors, trying to memorize all of the different types of these particular warriors. “Gladiators” they were called. Luckily, the sun shines perfectly through the yellow curtains on the window, illuminating the different armor and weapons these “gladiators” used. Everything is perfect.

“I don’t think Kiana and Derick would want you reading that.”

I look up from my book, seeing Jessie leaning in the doorframe. She’s wearing her dark, wavy hair down today. It falls loosely across her shoulders and back, framing her tanned face. She looks kind of like me, the main differences being that she’s female and has brown eyes. It sickens me.

“What person calls their parents by their first name?” I say flatly, closing my book and standing up, walking over to block her from walking into the room.

“Well you never did,” she replies, smiling. “You always loved your Mama and Papi so much.”

I clench my jaw, staring down at her. She laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Calm down, everyone knows you called them that,” she says, tracing her fingers down my chest and abdomen, going too low. “I think it’s kind of cute.”

“Dylan is sick,” I say, grabbing her wrist and pushing her back. “Leave us alone.”

“Tsk tsk tsk, you’ve been a bad boy Alex,” Jessie says, pushing her way past me.

I let her, watching as she sits on my bed and picks up my book.

“You wouldn’t want Kiana and Derick finding out about this, would you?”

“Get out,” I hiss, not moving from the doorway.

“Give me what I want,” she says, throwing the book on the floor.

“No.”

“Well, I guess I could get it from your brother.”

My heart sinks as she walks over to Dylan. I start to walk over to stop her, but one look is enough to tell me that if I try to intervene it will be worse for him, so I just watch from the doorway, unsure of what to do. Jessie doesn’t wake him, just watches him sleep.

“He’s a bit young, but with the size of you,” she says, looking back to me. “Will still be pretty damn good.”

“Don’t touch him,” I hiss, taking a step further, but not daring go any closer.

“Will you give me what I want?” she asks, running a hand lightly over my brother’s hair.

“Yes,” I say, clenching my jaw and looking out into the hallway. Kiana and Derick are out harvesting fruit today, and they won’t be back until late tonight. “Just not here.”

 

“No, it will be here.” She finally walks away from Dylan and back over to me. “To make sure you don’t try and call for help.”

I grab her arms, slamming her against the corner of the doorframe. She doesn't cry or scream, but laughs. It’s quiet, sending chills down my spine and making my blood boil over with anger. I go to wrap my hands around her throat.

“If you beat me, they’ll drug you up so much you won’t be able to walk for weeks,” Jessie says, still laughing. “Then Kiana and Derick will kick you out, and I’ll be able to do whatever I want with little Dylan.”

I push her harder against the wall, but think about what she said. She’s right - there’s only so far you can push people, even people from Amity, and I can’t leave Dylan here alone. He’s too young. So I let her go, giving her one last shove before dropping my arms and taking a step back.

“You might be smart after all,” she says, pushing her hand under my shirt.

I grit my teeth, looking into the hallway. Kiana and Derick are in the outer fields harvesting today, and they won’t return until late tonight. Dax is off somewhere performing whatever duty he was assigned for the day, and he’s never back until nightfall. I just hope Dylan doesn’t wake up.

Jessie grabs my dick through the loose, red pants I’m currently wearing. Her touch makes me want to run, but I can’t. Instead, I clench my jaw even tighter and look up at the ceiling. I want to vomit. She’s going to get angry if I can’t get hard, so I try, thinking of the gladiators in the book and some of the Dauntless men who wear tight shirts that show off their muscles and tattoos. It doesn’t work.

“Having a bad day today?” she asks with a synthetic sweetness.

“Give me a minute,” I reply, looking down at her. “I’m tired.”

“It’s okay, it happens to everyone.” She’s pissed. “Sit.”

I don’t move, looking into the hallway once again, hoping that for some reason Dax, or even Kiana and Derick, will come home.

“Now,” she hisses, pushing my shoulder.

I lower my head, walking over to my bed and sitting down. Jessie struts over to me, moving her hips in some sort of sickly dance as if trying to impress me. She straddles me, taking my hand and placing it on her breast as she rolls her hips forward.

“You know what to do,” she says, smirking.

Shame fills me as I lift her shirt up over her arms and head, leaving her top half exposed. She isn’t wearing a bra - not a surprise, honestly.

“Do you like what you see?” she asks, not giving me time to answer before she takes a fist full of my hair and guides my mouth to her breast.

I close my eyes, trying to think of anyone, no, anything but her as I stick out my tongue, running it over her nipple before taking the breast in my mouth, sucking. It doesn’t work, and after a few seconds, I have to pull away, gagging, my hands flying up to my mouth to keep me from vomiting.

“What the hell is your problem?” she snaps, wrapping a hand around my neck and pushing me back onto the bed. “Do I disgust you.”

I almost say yes, but I know better by now.

“No,” I say, closing my eyes, fighting to keep tears from spilling. “I’m sorry, just give me a minute.”

“Whatever,” she says, standing up. “Just strip.”

I nod, swallowing the bile in my throat. Starting with my shirt, I throw it to the ground before gripping my pants and underwear, pulling them down to the ground as well. Then, I lie on the bed, resting my hands on my stomach and staring at the ceiling as Jessie strips away the rest of her clothes.

It hurts when she throws herself on top of me, her elbow digging into my ribs. Still, I don’t complain, simply wincing as she adjusts herself. She kisses me, forcing her slimy tongue into my mouth, grinding against me for a few seconds before kissing down my neck, chest, and abdomen, not bothering to move my hands from my chest. She runs her tongue along my dick, gripping the base in her hand before putting the tip in her mouth.

Tears begin to stream down my face as I feel myself begin to become erect. I feel sick, but I know I can’t vomit. I can merely lie there and cry, waiting for it to all be over. Storm enters my mind - the way I can ride him far away from here, even if just in my mind. That feeling of flying somehow keeps me from sobbing, and I manage to keep the silent tears. Maybe one day I will ride him far away from here, riding to wherever the post-war destruction allows me to have a fresh start. It has to be better than here.

Once Jessie is satisfied with her work, she moves back up, spreading her legs and positioning herself. Slowly, she lowers herself onto me, taking my hands and holding them above my head. A sob escapes me, and I close my eyes, letting more overtake my body as tears stream down the sides of my face and Jessie rocks her hips.

“What are you doing?”

My head snaps to the doorway. Dax is standing there, shocked, confused, and staring at us. Jessie freezes for a moment,visibly scared. I’m saved, but then she smiles, lifting herself off of me and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“We’re just having some fun,” she says with false sweetness, smiling at Dax. “Want to join?”

Dax stares at her before looking to me. I try to speak, to ask for help, but between sobs and holding back the urge to vomit, no words come out. Instead, I sit up, pushing myself back towards the headboard and curling into myself, wrapping my arms around my knees and hiding my face. I want Jessie to go away.

“Sure,” Dax says.

I can’t control the whimper that escapes me. Everything goes numb, and I can’t do anything except cry. I can’t think, can’t move, and can’t speak. I just sit there, listening to Dax walk over to me, stripping his clothes. 

“I always wanted to know what it would be like to fuck a guy,” he says, forcing me to lift my head and forcing himself between my legs. “Never thought it would be my brother.”

“Please don’t,” I beg as he pulls me towards him, forcing me to lie down. “Dax, don’t.”

“Shut up,” he hisses, pushing my legs apart and positioning himself.

“Dax, please,” I say, looking towards the ceiling.

I cry out as he forces himself into me, reaching up and pushing at his shoulders, continuing to cry out with every thrust he makes. A hand covers my mouth - Jessie.

“Shut up, Alex,” she says. “You wouldn’t want to wake up your little brother, would you?”

I shake my head, glancing over to Dylan. He’s still asleep, and a small part of me manages to feel relieved. I try my best to stay quiet, but small whimpers still escape me with every ripping thrust. Still, Jessie takes her hand off my mouth.

“Maybe you should help him stay quiet,” Dax says, lifting my legs. “From what you’ve told me, he’s pretty damn good with his tongue.”

Another sob escapes me as I listen to them. Dax knew about this, and he didn’t stop her. He didn’t help me or protect me like he said he would before our parents died, but instead listened to the stories of my torture. He is no better than Jessie. In fact, he’s worse.

“Why don’t you do it then?” Jessie asks, walking over to him and running her hand down his chest. “It would be hot.”

Dax nods, giving a few final thrust before pulling out of me and moving to sit beside my head. I don’t know who to focus on, or if I should focus on either of them, as Jessie straddles me and positions herself over me while Dax puts his dick in my face.

Jessie acts first, lowering herself onto me with a drawn out moan that makes me sick. She starts rocking her hips, continuing to moan and pant like some sort of animal in distress. Then again, I guess that’s all she is - a filthy animal.

“If you bite me, I’ll fucking kill you,” Dax says, forcing my mouth open before straddling my head, shoving his dick in my mouth.

I gag, grabbing at his hips to try and push him off, but he keeps thrusting into my mouth. It tastes disgusting. It feels disgusting. It’s too much. I feel my bile coming up in my throat, and I guess he feels it too as he pulls out of my mouth. I sit up, vomiting over the side of the bed. It’s not much, but it smells repulsive.

“You stupid little bitch,” Dax says, hitting the back of my head. “You never could do anything right.”

“Please,” I say, gripping onto the duvet. “Please, just stop.”

Jessie lets out a long, high pitched moan, tightening around my dick as she desperately rocks her hips. Dax grabs my wrists and holds them above her head, preventing me from pushing off and allowing her to ride out her orgasm.

Then they switch positions, Dax flipping me onto my stomach, forcing me to lift my hips off the bed. He positions himself and thrust in, and I once again cry out, tears streaming down my face. Every move he makes hurts so much I feel as if I can’t breathe, but he doesn’t stop. I try to stay quiet - to bite the duvet and merely whimper - but I can’t.

“What’s going on?”

It’s Dylan. He’s awake. I look over to him, trying to hold back the sobs that begin to take over. He’s scared and confused, bringing his knees to his chest and starting to cry.

“Dax, what are you doing?” he asks.

“Dylan, go hang out with your friends,” I say, crying out immediately after as Dax gives a particularly hard thrust. “Don’t worry about it, just go!”

“Don’t go, Dylan,” Jessie says, walking over to him.

“Don’t fucking touch him!” I scream, lunging towards her, but Dax pushes me onto the bed, keeping me in place.

“Don’t worry, we’re just having a little fun,” she says, hugging him and leading him out of the room. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Dax doesn’t wait for them to leave, continuing to thrust hard and fast. I cry out again, gripping the sheets in my hands, trying to resist the urge to vomit again. His thrusts start to become faster, more jagged. Finally, he cums, pulling out a few seconds after. I whimper, waiting for him to leave.

“Did you cum?” Dax asks.

I stay silent, resting my head on my forearms. Dax hits me, not hard enough to leave a bruise, but hard enough to get his point across. I look at him over my shoulder.

“Did you cum or not?” he asks, clearly irritated.

“Why would I cum when you’re fucking raping me?” I say, another sob escaping from me.

“It’s not rape if you cum,” he replies, moving over to take my hands from Dax. “Jessie says she always makes you cum.”

I don’t reply - I don’t have to - he snakes his arm to the front of me, wrapping it around my dick. Before I realize what he’s doing, he’s jacking me off, putting his other hand on the back of my neck to keep me in place. I try to fight the feeling, try to fight the so called “pleasure,” but I can’t. Still, the sobs override any moans that might otherwise escape, but that doesn’t change the fact that in mere minutes I’m cumming into my brother’s hand.

“What a good little slut,” Dax mocks, wiping the semen on my back. “Aren’t you, Alex?”

I don’t answer, but I don’t have to. Dax gets off the bed, picks up his clothes, and leaves - probably to go take a shower. Shame fills me as I lie down on my stomach, the stops ceasing and leaving me with silent tears. I close my eyes, trying to sleep away the pain.

I jerk up in the chair, making it to my feet as quick as possible. My chest hurts too much to breathe, and I feel like I’m going to be sick - the clothes on my body providing me with little comfort. Eric is sitting at the desk, still looking bored.

“I told you I didn’t want to do that!” I scream, unsure of what else to do.

I have nothing to throw at him, and if I fight him he’ll just force me back into the simulation, so I turn away, heading towards the door. He must’ve unlocked it while I was in the simulation, because I throw it open, getting out of the room as fast as I can. I don’t know where I’m going, or even how to get back to the dorms, just as long as it’s anywhere but in that almost empty room with Eric.

**Author's Note:**

> This is also posted on Wattpad because that is where I posted the original version of this a couple years ago, so if you see it on there (under the name Maxx_S) it's me.


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